


Moonlight and Moonshadow

by The_Mist_Dragon



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, Ethari is a sweetheart, F/F, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Runaan is the gay disaster we all know he is, Snarky Tiadrin, Supportive Lain, Too many OCs to count - Freeform, We got some death but not until later, pretty much anything - Freeform, slow-burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:28:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 67,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28463850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Mist_Dragon/pseuds/The_Mist_Dragon
Summary: Long ago, years before the fall of the Dragon King and the birth of the Dragon Prince, Runaan is moving steadily through his training to become an assassin. One day, after a tough battle with his swordfighting instructor, his sword is broken so badly, only one person in the Silvergrove has the skill to repair it: the Master Craftsman. Little does he know, there is much more in store for him after that.
Relationships: Ethari/Runaan (The Dragon Prince), Lain/Tiadrin (The Dragon Prince)
Comments: 76
Kudos: 136





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> What's up, my fellow Ruthari fans? This is going to be a long fic! I already have almost the entire thing written out, so y'all  
> don't have to stress about updates! :P 
> 
> Updates will be every Saturday. Y'all are in for a treat!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

When the elders of the Silvergrove had told the young elves in training that the road to becoming a warrior wasn’t going to be easy, they should have elaborated that it would be borderline hell.

The clash of metal against metal was deafening, nearly drowning out the sound of his heavy breathing. The shock of each connection sent shivers up his arm. It was a dance of skill, grace, and speed: a dance that in its truest form would always end in death. 

All at once, the unforgiving pommel of a sword knocked the air out of his chest, and sent him flying backward. Runaan fell hard on his back in the dirt, his sword skittering across the sandy training area, the middle of the blade bent and twisted. He groaned irritably when the tip of another blade pointed at his throat, hovering over his collarbone like a snake ready to strike.

“You’re dead.” His opponent declared unceremoniously, lifting his blade as Runaan stood back up, dusting the sand off his hands and robes. His opponent frowned, shaking his head. “Your attacks are fast, but your defense is sloppy. You’re focusing too much on slashing and not enough on parrying. When you hit, you don’t react.”

“Yes, I do.” Runaan snapped, snatching up his weapon and glaring at the bend in the metal. “Just not in time. I’ll get it, eventually.”

The older elf sighed. “With the progress you’re making, you don’t have eventually, Runaan,” He told him, sheathing his sword with practiced ease and crossing his arms. “You’re at the top of your group, and you show the most promise out of all the elves your age. But you’re not focusing on what’s important in your training. You improve, yes, but not in the areas that need it the most.” 

Runnan scowled. He flicked his head to the side to get a strand of hair out of his face. If he had to hear this speech one more time, he was going to slice something. The other elves snickering at him from the sidelines were tempting targets.

“I need you to stop wanting to just attack, attack, attack, and learn how to defend yourself.” The older elf fixed his eyes on Runaan, who stared at the ground in front of his shoes. “The humans are not to be underestimated. Though they have no natural magic, they are surprisingly skilled in the art of war. And they use that hideous dark magic, which could end your life in a heartbeat. Even if you have the advantage in offence, all it takes is one mistake, and you will be dead. Do you understand?”

Runnan gripped his sword harder. “Yes, Deimos.” He faced his teacher, who nodded sharply to him, satisfied.

“Good. I expect great things from you, Runaan” Deimos’ eyes flicked down to Runaan’s ruined sword. He lifted the blade with his finger, inspecting the bend. His lip curled. “That damage is too severe to be repaired by a normal swordsmith,” he noted, letting it drop from his hold. Runnan gave the offending blade another glare. “If it’s not reshaped correctly, there will be dire consequences.”

Runnan pulled on the front of his training clothes, sweat making them stick to his skin. “Fantastic. What do you propose I do?”

Deimos’ eyes narrowed at the sarcasm in his tone. “Only one person in the grove has the skill to repair it.”

Runnan looked up, confused as Deimos turned around and began walking away, the many braids in his long white hair waving as his shoulders moved. “Who?”

Deimos paused. In a monotone, almost condescending voice, he answered. 

“The Master Craftsman.”

* * *

“I cannot  _ believe _ that you don’t see how lucky you are!” Taidrin shrieked in Runaan’s ear, making him twitch his head away from her. “You can’t seriously not know!”

Runaan shoved her hard to the side, glaring at her as she playfully danced close to him, but just out of reach. On his other side, her boyfriend, Lain, snickered at her antics. Runaan couldn’t decide who to scowl at, so he settled for staring straight ahead on the path they were on, climbing up the stairs to what was supposedly the Silvergrove’s largest forge, where the so-called ‘Master Craftsman’ held their shop.

“For the last time, no, I don’t know why I’m ‘lucky’.” He clenched the hilt of his sword. “I’m actually anything but. The only reason I’m seeing this Master Craftsman is because my sword needs to be repaired.”

Taidrin feigned shock, looking back and forth from Runaan to Lain, who’s expression mirrored hers. “And just when I thought you couldn’t get any more astounding.” She dropped her head and sighed dramatically. “There is no hope for you, Runaan.”

He swept his steely gaze to her, his irritation reaching his peak. “Maybe, instead of being so cryptic, you could actually explain why this is such a big deal to you two?”

Lain cleared his throat. “Not just to us, but to anyone who lives here.” He explained. “Even if you always are out training, or visiting other towns, it’s shocking that you haven’t even heard of him. He’s kind of an important person” Runaan scoffed. Lain ignored him and continued. 

“To start, the Master Craftsman is the best swordsmith, weapon maker, crafter, and artist in the whole of Silvergrove.”

“The Master Craftsman is constantly flooded with weapon requests, repair needs, and many other jobs, so it’s  _ super _ rare that Deimos gave you permission to see him!” Taidrin piped in.

“Not only does he forge weapons, but he is so skilled in his craft, the things he makes are supposed to be the most deadly elven weapons in Xadia.”

“He doesn’t just make weapons, either! He also does armor, jewelry, even magic items!”

“He’s well-trained,”

“Smart,”

“Trustworthy and kind,”

“Caring and sweet!”

“And so  _ dreamy _ ~” They finished in usion, both of them swooning over. Runaan scoffed and rolled his eyes. How did he ever become friends with them in the first place? They just saw him sitting by himself at dinner one night and decided to pick him up, he guessed. From then on, he was stuck with them. Fantastic.

“Sounds like you’ve met this person before.” He noted. Tiadrin shrugged her shoulders.

“Nope. We’ve only heard the rumors.” She sighed longingly. “But could you imagine? Me, getting to meet him?!” She swooned again into Lain’s arms, who pushed her back on her feet with a smile. “Again, you are so, so lucky.”

They reached the top of the staircase. The entrance to the craftsman’s forge was a set of doors with a high arch over it, engraved with elvish runes. Taidrin bopped Runaan on his shoulder, smiling at him.

“Good luck, Mr. Assassin!” She chirped, twirling gracefully around and making her way back down the stairs, Lain in tow. 

Runnan stared after them. “You’re not going in with me?” He didn’t need the company, in fact he would prefer to be without it, but they had made such a big deal out of the Master Craftsman that he had assumed they would tag along.

Lain raised an eyebrow. “And get Deimos on my back again? No way! This is all you, Runaan.” He linked his arm around his girlfriend’s shoulders.

“See you at dinner!” Taidrin called, before they both disappeared down the hill, leaving Runaan alone at the forge.

Runaan sighed. He gave his twisted sword another reproachful look. Well, better get this over with. Shrugging his shoulders and sighing, he stepped up to the door and knocked.

“Excuse me?” He called out, “I’m here to see the-” 

The door swung open with a slam, startling him into a fighting stance on instinct. He held out his broken weapon, as if it would do anything against an opponent. He stood there for one moment longer, eyeing the inside of the building suspiciously, before he heard a “ _ mrow _ ”.

Runaan looked down. At the base of his feet sat a large, white cat. It tilted its head at him, its wide metallic eyes staring up at the elf calmly. Runaan, still frozen, watched as it got up on all fours and leisurely stretched out its slim, lean body in the coming dusk, yawning widely. Then it straightened out, licked the tip of its nose, and rubbed its head against Runaan’s legs, purring loudly.

Runaan exhaled, dropping his defensive stance with an eyebrow raised at the cat. The creature meowed pleasantly at him, its tail waving lightly. 

“Don’t suppose you’re the Master Craftsman?” He asked the cat. To his surprise, the cat grinned at him and made a chuffing noise that sounded like laughter. It padded into the forge, stopping to peer one last time at Runaan, before slinking away and vanishing. Runaan, after a moment's hesitation, slowly followed it inside.

The inside of the workshop was certainly a sight to behold. Runaan couldn’t help but let his eyes go wide as he stared at the walls, weapons from swords to scythes displayed on small hooks ceiling to floor. No two blades were the same. Curved or straight, broad or thin, short or long, they all were unique, and as the door quietly swung shut, the sun’s rays glinted off the edges of the metal, which were without a doubt wicked sharp.

Along the walls were a few wooden mannequins, which wore elven robes and armor. Their faceless heads watched Runaan as he turned in a full circle, observing the entirety of the shop. He brushed his hair from his face, tapping the hilt of his sword. There was so much beauty to take in.

There was a work desk at the back of the shop. There, several unfinished sword hilts and other items were strewn haphazardly across the wood. Sheets of paper were pinned to the wall, showing the designs for weapons, armor, and strange looking sculptures. Runaan tilted one of them to him for a better look. The paper contained the blueprints for a beautiful archery bow, which apparently, according to the drawing, could split into two longswords “for close range combat”, the spiky handwriting told him.

“ _ I’ve never seen anything like this. _ ” Runaan let his fingers brush across a smooth, leaf-shaped dagger. It was unpolished and didn’t have a hilt, but it was well made and would no doubt be a formidable weapon. Walking around the shop one last time, he noticed that no one other than him was in the room.

“Hello?” He called, looking back at the door, which was closed. “I’m here to see the Master Craftsman?” He rubbed the pommel of his sword with his thumb. “I was told by my instructor to get my blade re-” He trailed off when he finally heard the sound. A distant clashing and pounding. Runaan turned to the right and saw a hallway in the shop. He walked over and peered down the hall, the noises getting louder before they stopped. Runaan saw a flash of white, and he looked over just in time to see the cat’s tail swish around a door.

Looking over his shoulder to make sure the Craftsman hadn’t turned up behind his back, Runaan wandered through the hallway, pausing every so often to glance into the rooms to see if anyone was there.

“Excuse me?” He said to an empty drawing room.

“Hello?” He called into some sort of supply area.

He checked another room, then quickly sped by when he saw it was a bedroom. “ _ Nope. _ ”

By the last door, Runaan was getting frustrated. He had walked by a bookroom, a kitchen, even another supply room, but there was still no-one but him! What, so this Master Craftsman isn't here when he had someone in need of his services? Sure, he was supposed to be a busy elf, but where in Xadia was he? He rounded around another doorway, not noticing how much warmer it was than the rest of the house. “Is anyone here?!” He yelled. “I need to see the-”

“WATCH OUT!!” Another voice screamed, and Runaan’s eyes widened as a pillar of fire flared out in front of him. He jumped back, his feet scrambling on the ground as the fire swiped at his face, making the edges of his hair singe and hiss.

Runaan saw motion from the inside of the room. An elvish shape was making large swinging movements, loud clanging emanating at each downstroke. Around them, fire raged wildly, the heat making Runaan’s skin prickle. With one last swing, the elf plunged whatever it had into a barrel full of water, filling the room with steam that quickly vanished in the fire. Suddenly, the elf-shape disappeared, and the walls of the room of fire collapsed in on themselves, like mouths closing shut, and the fire was gone.

Runaan breathed slowly, trembling a little from surprise. His ears twitched at the sound of footsteps.

“SELENA!” The voice yelled from the room angrily. Runaan stepped back as the footsteps got closer.

“THAT’S THE THIRD TIME THIS WEEK!! THE THIRD TIME!! I KNOW YOU CAN’T READ, BUT I TOLD YOU WHENEVER I PUT THE SIGN OUT THAT YOU DON’T COME IN-” A face appeared in front of Runaan’s. The elf was wearing a forging helmet, a long black overcoat, and a  _ very _ angry expression. As soon as he saw Runaan, however, the anger melted off his face. “...here.” 

The two elves stared at each other, their mouths agape. Runaan immediately took note of the warm brown hue of the other elf’s eyes. He appeared to be the same age as Runaan. His skin was darker than Runaan’s, the color leaning more towards blue rather than purple. Lavender colored markings framed the sides of his face, and just a hint of white hair showed underneath his forging helmet. Runaan felt his heart leap strangely in his chest as he saw the other elf’s eyes sweep over his face, then give him a once-over. 

“...You’re not Selena.” The elf finally spoke. His voice, now that the anger was gone, was surprisingly both deep and light.

“Uhm…” Runaan lowered his hands. “No...”

The elf’s eyebrows knit together. “Did you not read the sign?” He asked.

“What sign?”

The elf frowned. “That’s a no, then.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, giving Runaan an ‘are you kidding me’ look. “I have a sign for a reason.”

Runaan’s memory suddenly sparked, and he backtracked to the entrance of what he now guessed was the main forge. He looked on the left side of the doorway to see a small wood sign hung at eye level, painted with light blue runes.

**Warning**

**The forge is currently on and in use**

**Do Not Enter**

“...Oh.”

That was certainly humiliating. 

The elf sighed and walked up next to Runaan. “I put that up because young elves like yourself, wait, on that thought,  _ every _ elf would constantly come back here when I’m not up front to look for me and end up with all their hair burned off.” The elf eyed Runaan’s large braid, which nearly reached his lower back. “Would’ve been a shame, too. It looks like you’ve spent a lifetime growing it out.”

Runaan did a double take. This elf was like no elf he had ever met before. Normally, all the elves would be put off by his intimidating aura and only speak a little to him before excusing themselves. This one, however, spoke to him with ease. “Uh…”

“No matter. You only got your ends seared off.” He strolled back into the forge and returned with a long metal blade, carrying it with a pair of tongs. He brushed by Runaan and walked on to the end of the hall. After taking a minute, Runaan snapped out of his trance and quickly followed after the other elf.

“Hey, wait! I came here to see the-”

“Just one moment!” The elf interrupted, turning into one of the rooms and disappearing. Runaan rushed in after him, and skidded to a halt once he was inside.

Blades. Dozens of them, all mounted upright in neat lines on wooden holders. There was a large mechanical whetstone in the far corner, and a table with cleaning rags and polishing grease. The elf set the blade, which despite its water bath still steamed with heat, on a stone rack, checking to make sure it was set safely so it wouldn’t fall, then turned and hurried right back out of the room, Runaan once again following behind.

The elf emerged into the large main room, and walked towards the door, where he hung the tongs next to a rack of other tools and began to shed his large overcoat.

“Excuse me, but-” Runaan tried, but the elf held up a finger as he pulled the coat off, revealing his bare, muscular arms, lined with the same lavender markings on his face. He hung the coat on a large hook, before he grasped his forging helmet and pulled it off with one smooth motion.

Runaan was still as the elf’s snow white hair tumbled down to his shoulders, shaking his head to fluff it out. Runaan felt his breath catch slightly when the elf turned around to face him, and Runaan saw the deep green jewels adorning his horns, his bangs falling messily (and a little cutely) into his face.

“Now,” he began, setting his helmet on the long table that spanned most of the left and back wall, giving Runaan a cheerful smile, “what can I do for you?”

It took a minute for Runaan to find his voice. “I…” He shook his head to clear it. “My name is Runaan, and I’ve come to see the Master Craftsman.”

The elf inclined his head. “Well, congratulations, Runaan, you found him.” The elf gave a short bow. “Though I would have preferred you had waited until Selena got me before you went looking for me.”

Disbelief covered Runaan’s face. “You?” He asked incredulously. “You’re the Master Craftsman?”

The elf raised a brow. “Yes? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m the only one here besides Selena, and I know for darn sure  _ she _ isn’t the Master Craftsman.”

Runaan had to bite back a disbelieving laugh. “Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know,  _ older _ in order to be called the Master Craftsman?”

“Shouldn’t  _ you _ be older to come to my shop seeking my help to fix a bent assassin’s sword?” The elf fired back smartly. Runaan mentally reeled back. What in Xadia? Not even Tiadrin or Lain talked to him like this! He regarded the elf with an inquisitive gaze.

The elf laughed at Runaan’s silence, then strolled in front of him.

“I’m called the Master Craftsman, but my real name is Ethari.” He gave Runaan a heartwarming smile, holding out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Runaan.”

Runaan blinked, then reluctantly grasped Ethari’s hand, shaking it. “Likewise,” He said.

Ethari nodded, then clapped his hands together. “Alright! Now that we’ve got introductions out of the way, why don’t I take a look at that sword of yours?” He held out his hands for the weapon, and Runaan placed the blade carefully into Ethari’s palms.

Stepping back, Ethari inspected the blade. He held it out, turning it over and looking at it from all angles. He ran his fingers along the flat of the blade, feeling the malformed twists and bends in the metal. After a full minute of examination, he spoke.

“You were right to come to me.” Ethari glanced at Runaan, then back at the blade. “Damage like this is hard to fix without the right skills. A simple reheating and pounding won’t be sufficient. I need to replace the center metal, and to do that, I need to take off the hilt and pry apart the different metals in order to keep its former quality.” Ethari sent a grin at Runaan. “I know many of the other swordsmiths will claim they can do the job, but I’ve seen their swords, and they’re riddled with tiny malformations, which make the sword easier to shatter.”

Runaan shifted, Ethari’s grin making him feel strange. “Can you do it?”

“Of course I can!” Ethari declared. “A repair like this will be a challenge, but nothing I haven’t dealt with before.” Ethari fixed Runaan with an amused look. “If I couldn’t fix something as simple as a bent sword, then the title of Master Craftsman is worthless.” Runaan coughed, hiding his snicker. This elf was so weird. He was almost eccentric, but not over-the-top.

“Although,” Ethari suddenly put on a thinking face, “the damage on this sword reminds me of something…” He squinted at the warped blade, then addressed Runaan. “How did you break your sword?”

“During training.” Runaan answered stiffly. He didn’t want to talk about it, especially with this elf. He definitely seemed like the type of elf who liked to mess with other elves.

Ethari, however, wasn't having any of it. He frowned. “I can tell.” He deadpanned. “What part of your training,  _ specifically? _ Were you slashing a target? Were you using magic? If what I’m thinking right now is true, it might benefit you in the long run.”

Runaan’s mood soured. He glared at the floor, suddenly miffed that it was clean, despite the clutter all around the room. “I was sparring, okay?” He grumbled. “Against one of the elder assassins. I wasn’t fast enough, or something like that.” Runaan hated feeling like this. He trained as hard as he could to perfect his swordsmanship, but he was always knocked down by Deimos, who was always just a little too fast for him, no matter how hard he tried.

“Not fast enough how?” Ethari pressed. He knew full well he was rubbing a sore spot for the other elf, but he had to know.

“Blocking!” Runaan snapped, sending Ethari a heated glare, who held his hands up in surrender. “Parrying! I hit, but I can’t block in time! Why does any of this matter at all to you?” All Ethari needed to do was just fix his sword, not criticize his failures! Why in Xadia was this elf being so-

“Because it’s not a problem with your speed, it’s a problem with your sword.” Ethari stated matter-of-factly.

Okay, that was news.

The anger drained out of Runaan like water through a strainer. “Huh?”

Ethari rolled his eyes, then turned around and laid the bent sword on the table. He picked up two other swords, tossing one of them to Runaan. “Prepare yourself.” Ethari stated as Runaan caught the blade, turning it over in his hand.

“Prepare for wh-” He didn’t get the chance to finish his sentence, as the next thing he knew, Ethari was charging at him, weapon raised.

Instinct took over, and Runaan was just barely able to block the first swing in time. Ethari, however, wasn’t an amateur, as he immediately pulled back and launched onto the offensive. He traded blow after blow, feinting and slashing with the skill of a trained assassin.

“ _ He’s fast!” _ Runaan thought as he struggled to keep up with his jabs and feints. “ _ I can’t attack! Why does this sword feel so odd?” _ The weapon Ethari had given to him felt strangely out of balance. It didn’t necessarily feel heavier, it felt like something was causing it to move slowly, no matter how fast Runaan tried to move it.

Ethari caught his blade under Runaan’s sword. Twirling the weapon, he expertly wretched it from Runaan’s grasp and sent it into the floor, where it sunk several inches into the wood.

Runaan was shocked. No one except Deimos had ever beaten him in a sword match. Sure, this technically wasn’t a formal sword fight, but Runaan didn’t care. He stared at the sword as it wobbled from the impact. What  _ was _ that? Was he really getting worse? Tiadrin had said that Ethari was a skilled fighter, but was he really better than…

“Just as I suspected.” Ethari broke into his thoughts. He yanked the sword from the wood blowing dust off the blade. “The point of balance is too high for you.”

Runaan gave Ethari a bewildered look. “What?”

Ethari rolled his eyes again, sighing. “The point of balance!”

Ethari held his sword up and put it on one of his fingers. The blade lay flat on his hand, tilting from side to side a bit, before Ethari grasped the hilt again. “The point of balance. Where the blade is equally balanced on one side or the other.” He explained. “Normally, the point of balance is the same on every sword, but since different people wield different swords differently, their sense of balance can sometimes not coordinate with a sword’s balance. If the balance is too low, the wielder can’t make fast, fluid strikes. And if the balance is too high, like this one,” he held up the sword Runaan used, “the wielder can’t recover from strikes in time to parry counterattacks.”

He waved around Runaan’s faulty sword. “I’ve come across this issue a few times before, and I know what it looks like. I purposefully made this sword imbalanced to see how well an elf can fight with it. You were a bit thrown off, since the imbalance in this sword is more severe than your other one, but you fought like you were used to it, and that’s how I know that your problem isn’t with speed, but the balance of the sword.”

Runaan felt like his whole world just turned upside down. All this time. All this time, he spent training and training and training in order to become fast enough to parry any attack, when the root of the problem wasn’t his speed, but his  _ sword? _ He was completely dumbstruck… and honestly, a little scandalized.

Ethari hung up the two swords and retrieved Runaan’s bent sword. “I had thought that this sword’s balance was out of whack for you. Even though it’s bent, I can feel how the balance is off ever so slightly. When balance is off, you’re forced to focus part of your energy on constantly compensating the imbalance instead of focusing completely on your opponent. Those two things are a fatal combo when it comes down to a real fight. So,” He stood up tall, an air of business around him, “you have two options, Runaan. One, I repair the bend in the sword, which would take me two days at most, and you live with the imbalance until you receive a new sword.”

Runaan’s eyes narrowed. The sword he had gotten was given to him by Deimos. It was an assassin’s weapon, and he would not be able to receive a new one for at least another five years. If the sword really was the root of his problem, he didn’t have that time to spend.

“Or,” Ethari’s eyes gleamed, “I melt down the entire thing and reforge it anew.”

“What?!” Runaan exclaimed. “Are you mad?! That sword was given to me by the leader of the assassins, Deimos! You can’t just destroy it!”

Ethari’s eyes suddenly narrowed. He fixed the weapon with an icy glare.

“Oh, it used to be  _ Deimos’ _ .” Runaan was surprised at the cheerful elf’s change in mood. “No wonder it wasn’t suiting you.”

“What do you mean?”

Ethari sighed. “Deimos is a very…” he searched for the right word, “ _ traditional _ elf. He holds his values in following our ancestors to the letter. Now that you mention it…” He squinted at the hilt of the blade, then clicked his tongue. “This sword is really,  _ really _ old. I can just barely read the forging date. No wonder it was bent so badly from just a training session. They made swords much differently back then, and with swordsmanship arts constantly changing and evolving, weapons need to as well.” Ethari regarded Runaan with a thoughtful expression.

“You’re the elf that’s at the top of the trainees, aren’t you? The people who come into my shop often talk about you, but I hardly ever hear your name.”

Runaan shifted from foot to foot, a little embarrassed about his popularity. He wasn’t training as an assassin to be the talk of the grove, but to carry out his duty to the elves and the dragons and protect Xadia. “I would think so.” He replied as nonchalantly as he could. 

Ethari pursed his lips. “I thought so. In that case, I strongly ask you to allow me to forge you a new weapon. Not only will it be balanced right, it will be brand-new and made for you and only you.” Ethari took a step towards Runaan so they were facing each other. “A sword isn’t just a sword, Runaan. It’s the will and passion of the wielder. If your sword doesn’t perfectly reflect your true skill and spirit, it will fail you in your time of need. So please, Runaan,” Ethari’s expression looked pleading. “Let me do this for you. Your sword could save your life one day, and I would be heartbroken if you died all because your weapon failed you.”

Runaan was floored. He had never even heard of this elf until today, but he was sincere and honest to him in ways no one had ever been to him. He didn’t just make and repair swords without effort. He put his heart and soul into everything he created, and to him, if Runaan were to perish with a weapon that didn’t bring out his best, it would mean he had failed in the worst possible way he could.

“Fine.” Runaan answered, looking down to disguise the growing flush on his cheeks. “I accept your offer.”

Ethari’s expression lit up like a full moon. “Really?! That’s fantastic!” He gripped Runaan’s shoulder excitedly, the contact making Runaan’s blush deepen. “You won’t regret this, Runaan, I swear it! I’ll make you the greatest sword that any assassin could ever hope for! We must get started!” Hopping from foot to foot, grinning like a madman, he grabbed Runaan’s sleeve and pulled him to the side of the room, throwing the sword on the desk and situating Runaan on a drawn circle on the floor. 

Ethari put his fingers on his lips and whistled sharply. “Selena! I need you!” He called out.

Runaan opened his mouth to ask who in Xadia was this Selena, but the words died on his tongue when he saw a familiar streak of white pad into the room. The cat jumped gracefully on the table, walking to where the two elves were standing, and sat down on its haunches. Runaan’s eyebrows raised.

“ _ That’s _ Selena?” He asked, squinting at the cat as it cleaned its silvery whiskers. “Your helper? She’s… she’s a cat.”

“Not quite.” Ethari chirped. Runaan was going to ask how, but he had to bite back a yelp when Ethari circled him, examining his arms and hands, sometimes tracing the dark purple markings on his arms. He was muttering to himself, and when he stopped in front of Runaan, he clicked his tongue thoughtfully.

“What are you doing?!” Runaan swallowed as Ethari stared at his eyes, squinting as if he was looking for something.

“I hardly ever get free reign to design a new weapon for someone with a balance issue.” Ethari stated matter-of-factly as he circled around Runaan again. “I want to make sure I get everything right, down to the smallest detail.” He went to his desk and retrieved a pad of paper and a pencil. “Tape measure, if you please.” Ethari spoke.

“What-” He cut off as a roll of stiff fabric flew out in his peripheral vision, Ethari catching it easily without taking his eyes off the other elf. Runaan looked to the desk to see what in the world had thrown the tape measure, and this time he couldn’t hold back the yelp of surprise.

A young-looking girl was sitting on the edge of the desk where the cat had been, her feet dangling off and swinging pleasantly. She was snow white top to bottom, from her skin and hair to the leggings and dress she was wearing. Her hair was short and neat, and it was swept to the back of her head, revealing big, dark metallic silver eyes.

“What in Xadia?” Runaan twitched when the girl’s gaze locked onto his. She stared at him for a moment, her pointy cat ears swiveling forward, before smiling widely, revealing sharp, feline teeth.

“Selena isn’t your everyday Xadian cat.” Ethari explained as he measured the lengths of Runaan’s arms, hands, and fingers. “She’s a moon werecat. She can shift from feline to a more elf-like form like she’s in now. She can understand you if you talk to her, and she’s quite a good helper.” Ethari rolled his eyes. “It would help, though, if she actually listened to me when I tell her not to come into the forge when I’m working.”

Runaan stared at the werecat. She stared back with an unblinking gaze, her tail swishing this way and that. “Can she talk?”

Ethari barked a laugh. “Thank the dragons no! She meows enough to drive an Earthblood elf crazy! Besides, she looks like the kind of cat that if she could speak, she would do so in poems and riddles,” he shuddered, “backwards.”

Runaan snorted. That made perfect sense. On the table, Selena purred, smiling. Ethari finished up with his measurements, then straightened up and began writing on the pad of paper, his pencil making quiet scratching noises as he wrote quickly.

“Your sword hand is your right, am I correct?” He asked Runaan.

“Yes, but I’m learning to dual-wield.” He answered.

“Okay. Would you prefer a hilt size for both your hands, or just one?”

“One should be fine.”

“Would you like a shorted blade, or a longer one?”

“Longer.”

“Any particular shape you want the blade to be in?”

“Hmm, maybe slightly curved at the end? Also a bit wider than the blade I have now.”

“Guard design?”

“I’m not sure I want a large guard. Something smaller and thin.”

“Any specific colors?”

“Uh… dark green.”

“As to match assassin attire, yes?”

“Yeah.”

Ethari scribbled away notes on the paper, humming thoughtfully. “I’ll need titanium for the middle of the blade, and light moonsteel for the edge.” He muttered. “The guard will be bigger on the right side, as he favors his left in a fight. Leather for the grip, and a denser form of moonsteel for the hilt, to balance the blade. I’ll have to see if I can find turquoise for the pommel. The Tidebound elf traders are scheduled to arrive in three days, perhaps they will have some.”

“Hold on, turquoise?” Runaan put in, reading the list of materials over Ethari’s shoulders. “Why do you need that?”

“Your eyes.” Ethari stated before he could stop himself. “I’ve never seen a color so vibrant. You need something to match.”

Runaan’s head whipped up to Ethari’s, whose eyes were wide as he stared at the list he wrote. “Huh?!”

Ethari fumbled around with his pencil, his cheeks becoming noticeably darker as he glared at Selena, who purr-laughed at him. “Th-The color is nice!” He stuttered. “It would go well with your sword, that’s all!”

Runaan crossed his arms, pressing his lips together against his own blush. Why was the weird feeling in his chest back? “I don’t see why it’s necessary to have turquoise in the sword.” He remarked, looking to the side. “It serves no purpose other than to look nice.”

“That’s not true!” Ethari suddenly exclaimed, rounding back around to look at Runaan’s face. “It does have a purpose! It makes the sword unique to you!”

Runaan blinked at Ethari, his mouth open slightly. Ethari threw his hands up in exasperation, shaking his head. Walking to his desk and putting his pad down, he gestured to all the weapons displayed on the walls.

“The sword you have was given to you by an older elf, who likely had it for a long time. Though it is uncommon for assassins as young as us to receive blades like this so early in training, it’s not special to you.”

Runaan was quiet. Now that he was thinking about it, what Ethari was telling him was true. Though he had been honored to receive the weapon in his training, he had never really considered it special. Just another sword he was using. He had no idea that something like a sword was supposed to be something special.

“A weapon is only as good as it is made, and how it is used.” Ethari continued, running his fingers along one the blades of his swords. “If all I had to do was make generic swords for every elf that asked for one, I wouldn’t be so busy all the time. I’d have all my orders done within the day.” Ethari’s hand suddenly clenched.

“But…” He said, “a sword is an extension of an elf’s skill, grace, and heart. Every elf having the same sword is like every elf having the same thoughts and feelings. It simply isn’t right. A sword is a weapon that kills others, but at the same time, it protects others, too. Each elf protects different things in their lives, and their sword should reflect that. Every sword should be built with someone else in mind. A sword should be special.” Ethari looked back at Runaan, smiling softly. “That’s why… I want to make yours special, too.”

Runaan stared at Ethari. His eyes were wide, a creeping blush flowering on his cheeks like a drop of pink watercolor. This elf was… something else. No one had ever said anything so meaningful to him. Not even when Deimos gave him the ‘No Fear’ oath. Ethari wasn’t just forging swords for the elves of the grove. He was building unique weapons for each elf that came to him with purpose and dedication. He deeply and truly cared about what happened to the people using his swords, and he took every job as an opportunity to make something that would one day save the lives of the elves who used his work.

All at once, the moment was gone. A loud bell rang out across the Silver Grove, chiming three times, signalling that it was dinnertime for the young elves in training.

“Dinner.” Runaan stated, jogging to the door, pulling it open and stepping outside. He turned when he saw that the other elf wasn’t following. “Aren’t you coming?”

“I still have a few more things I need to finish before calling it a day.” Ethari replied, waving Selena off some of his blueprints, who hoped to the floor and morphed back into her cat form. “And I hope to begin drawing up your sword.”

“You’re not eating?” Runaan questioned him.

“I have snacks in my kitchen.” Ethari motioned Runaan out the door. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. Come back tomorrow afternoon for a check in if you get the chance!” He waved as Runaan let the door close. “See you later!”

Runaan bounded down the steps, not wanting to be late for dinner. He was always punctual for every activity in his day, and he wasn’t about to break his streak now. He was too self-disciplined to let himself do anything short of his best, for one, and Deimos would  _ not _ be pleased, for two.

As he quickly ran to the trainees dining hall, however, his usual thoughts of what might be for dinner were absent from his mind. Instead, his thoughts were of Ethari. Ethari, and the strange feelings Runaan felt towards him that he had never felt towards anyone before.


	2. Dinner and Moonlight Poems

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my excitement to begin posting here, I forgot to wait until Saturday, haha. Welp, here's chapter two anyway :) enjoy!

Tiadrin leaned closer to Runaan over the table, nearly knocking her plate off the edge as she stared at him expectantly. Lain, although he was trying to appear disinterested as he spooned fish into his mouth, kept casting glances to the other boy. Runaan, having six years of experience with their antics, ignored them as he chewed through his own fish, a blank frown on his face.

As usual, the dining hall was full of young elves. They congregated in small groups at the tables, discussing everything from the incoming final tests to the latest novel from the series about elf-shifting dragons. Most were gathered according to the profession that they were taking. Assassin kids sat together at a table near the center fire. Swordsmith trainees were in a corner of the dining hall. Elves who wanted to be teachers were quietly reading in one of the farthest tables away from the chatter. This was the way it had been since their training began. They sorted themselves into friend groups and stayed there.

In Runaan, Tiadrin, and Lain’s case, they were the odd group out of the hall. Both Tiadrin and Lain were the only elves that the elders had selected were fit enough to join the Dragonguard, a future elite group of elven warriors that were going to be sworn to protect the Storm Spire, where the King and the Queen of the dragons made their lair. Runaan had also been considered, but he was dead-set on joining the ranks of the assassins. He hadn’t made any attempt to mingle with the other young assassins, finding them too talkative and too wary of him to be around. Therefore, he had chosen to sit alone in the hall, preferring to eat and study in peace (somewhat). The two future Dragonguard members had joined him one day, and somehow, they were all a friend group now; the perfect couple and third wheel.

Runaan had finally had enough of their staring. He was in a strange mood after his visit with Ethari, and having Tiadrin and Lain hanging over him like curious Sunbirds did nothing to help. Slamming his plate on the table pointedly, he picked up his cup of moonberry juice and drank a large gulp.

“In the name of Avizandum, just spit it out, already!” Runaan barked at Tiadrin. She fell back onto her seat, a pout on her face.

“Well?! How was the Master Craftsman?!” She poked his arm, meeting his glare evenly. “You just showed up to dinner, barely on time, and didn’t say a word! We’ve been waiting for you to spill the details all evening!”

Runaan rolled his eyes heavily. “There’s nothing much to say.” A half lie. There was a lot he had on his mind, but there was no way he was going to tell it to the hyperminded Tiadrin and the so-clever-it-was-almost-scary Lain. “I went into his shop. He told me my blade was imbalanced. He’s going to reforge it into a new, better sword in about a week’s time.”

Tiadrin groaned loudly. “That’s not what I meant, you dim-witted-'' She proceeded to curse up a storm, causing Lain to choke on his fish, while mildly impressing Runaan with the sheer volume of her foul vocabulary. “Details, Runaan! Gimme the details!”

“No.”

“Dammit, Runaan, I’ve never even seen his forge! All I’m asking for is what in Xadia happened!”

“No.” Runaan replied firmly. He had learned his lesson a long time ago to never share anything with Tiadrin. She was as sharp-witted as she was nosy, and who knows what she would think of his visit to Ethari. And Lain… 

He shook his head. He was never going to share what had happened in the shop, not in a million-

“I’ll let you have the rest of my moonberry juice.”

Runaan stilled, then faced her with a reproachful look. She smirked at him, sliding her cup of moonberry juice with tantalizing slowness, Runaan noting it wasn’t even half empty. He gave her a nasty glare. She knew exactly what his weakness was, and she was not afraid to use it against him. Tiadrin grinned a shit-eating grin, knowing full well she had hooked him. Runaan stared her down for one moment longer, then relented.

Growling irritably, he snatched the cup of Moonberry juice, Tiadrin nodding smugly, nudging Lain with a wink. He shook his head, smiling in an endeared way, making Runaan want to pound his head on the table. He really,  _ really _ was going to regret this decision later. But, as he downed the rest of the sweet, flavorful drink, he felt an inkling of satisfaction as the moonberries worked their magic on him. He felt more relaxed, maybe even content, and he was more confident about having to put up with Tiadrin and Lain’s sure to be endless stream of questions.

“Well?” He set the cup back down, putting his old one inside of it. “What do you want to know?”

“Just start at the beginning.” Tiadrin told him, wiggling in close to Lain. “Who exactly  _ is _ the Master Craftsman?”

Runaan paused for a moment, considering his next words. If he said even one wrong thing, Tiadrin would spin hundreds of conclusions from it, and Lain… he almost shivered at the thought of what Lain would do. As Runaan thought again of Ethari, the strange feeling came back, making his chest feel oddly tight. Clearing his throat, he crossed his arms to help dissipate the tightness (it didn’t really work).

“His real name is Ethari.” Runaan started slowly. He had to build carefully, watching the other elves’ expressions to make sure he hadn’t screwed himself over. “He’s about our age, and he’s a little bit taller than me.”

Tiadrin nodded, making motions with her hands for Runaan to continue. Beside her, Lain rested his head on the table, folding his arms under his chin as he listened to Runaan with rapt attention.

Runaan thought back to Ethari’s appearance. “His skin is darker than ours. A little like Deimos’, but less gray and more blue. His markings are a blue-ish lavender color, and they go down the sides of his face, like this,” he traced his fingers down his face, all the way to his jaw. Tiadrin made an ‘ooo’ sound, folding her hands on her lap, her eyes sparkling.

“When I got to the forge, he was working on a sword. I had to wait for him to finish hammering it and cooling it before I could talk to him.” There was no way he was telling them about the near burn-his-hair-off incident. They hadn’t noticed the tips of his hair had blackened, and he intended to keep it that way. “When I did, he looked at my sword and told me it was imbalanced.”

Lain’s eyebrows knitted together. “Wait, he knew your sword was imbalanced for you just by looking at it?”

“Well, no,” Runaan debated his next move, “he, uh, he sparred with me.”

Tiadrin’s eyes went wide. “He did?!” She leaned across the table as far as she could go, staring at Runaan. “What was it like? Was he good? Like,  _ really _ good? Who won?”

“He was highly skilled, yes.” He left out the part where Ethari had beaten him almost effortlessly. In his defence, his sword was imbalanced. “From our fight, he was able to glean the issue with my sword. The center of balance was too high, or something like that. He said he could fix it, but he insisted that I let him reforge it into a new sword.”

Tiadrin hummed thoughtfully. Lain whistled. “I can see why.” He said. “Balance issues are not something to mess around with. My parents’ friend Aquila’s sword was overbalanced on one side, and it nearly cost her her life when a group of humans discovered her search party.” Lain tilted his head, his brow furrowing. “How exactly is he reforging your sword, again?”

“How exactly is who doing what?” A rough voice suddenly broke into their conversation, making all three elves nearly leap out of their skins.

Deimos was standing over the group, his dust gray eyes narrowed as they all sat up straight, their faces growing serious underneath his gaze. He was notoriously strict when it came to, well, everything he did, and getting on anything that even vaguely resembled his bad side was a sure-fire way to wind up in a world of hurt.

“Runaan,” he spoke after he finished inspecting the group, “what did the elf say about your weapon?”

“You mean Ethari?” Runaan had to struggle not to flinch when the older elf’s eyes darkened. 

“Yes.” Deimos drew out the ‘s’ sound with a hiss. “What did he say?”

Runaan swallowed the growing unease that was building up in his throat. He got the feeling that Deimos and Ethari were not on the best of terms. “He told me the blade was an easy fix,” He began, “But it had a balance issue that was causing me to struggle with reacting after a blow.”

Deimos raised an eyebrow skeptically. “Go on.”

“So,” Runaan continued, “He’s melting down the sword and reforging it, as to eliminate the issue and to ensure that it won’t bend like that again.” The thought of a brand new sword made Runaan weirdly excited. Most of the assassins weren’t gifted with new swords until they had been officially initiated. He really would owe it to Ethari for going to such lengths just to make sure his sword was as good as it could be.

Deimos, however, wasn’t as thrilled. His eyes flashed, the color darkening into storm clouds, and Runaan shrank back slightly, mentally bracing himself. “Let me get the straight,” his voice was trembling with rage, “you gave that elf permission, to completely destroy an ancient assassin’s sword, all because you don’t have the coping skills to deal with an ‘imbalance’?!”

“I-It’s a serious issue, Deimos.” Lain spoke up quietly. “If it’s not fixed, it could lead to complications that-”

“I don’t want to hear your petty excuses!” Deimos snapped, making Lain wither in his seat. Tiadrin grasped his hand under the table and gave it a comforting squeeze, glaring at the assassin under her hair. “That sword was created long ago for assassins that served the Silvergrove faithfully for years! And he,” he pointed at Runaan, “just gave permission for that elf to do who knows what to it all because he’s too incompetant to fix his own-”

“His name,” Runaan glared at Deimos, “is Ethari.”

Deimos leared down at Runaan, who held his gaze almost stubbornly. Runaan didn’t know why hearing Deimos refer to Ethari as ‘that elf’ made his blood boil, but he wasn’t going to hear it one more time. Though he still didn’t know a thing about Ethari, Runaan knew that he deserves respect for what he does for the Sivergrove. 

“The sword renewal isn’t going to be a quick process.” Runaan stared at Deimos, who narrowed his slanted eyes at the younger elf. “He said it’s going to be about a week's worth of work. I’m going to stop by again tomorrow after training to check in with him to see if everything is going smoothly. I’ll monitor his process and make sure that the sword is being crafted perfectly, as the swordsmiths before us did.” Runaan clenched his hands into fists below the table, hardly believing the words that were coming out of his mouth. “Though he is young, Ethari wouldn’t have the title of Master Craftsman if it meant nothing. I trust that he will reforge the sword into a weapon that will make all of the human kingdoms tremble at the mere mention of it. And I will take it up to master the art of the blade, to become an assassin that the Silvergrove can be proud of.”

Deimos raised his brows as Runaan fell silent. Runaan’s insides felt slimy after giving that speech to him. Runaan was  _ not _ the type of elf who sucked up to his mentors to be held at a higher opinion. Especially when it came to Deimos. With Deimos, Runaan wanted only pure skill and dedication to be shown to him. This time, however, was different. For whatever reason, Runaan felt that he had to defend Ethari, an elf he didn’t even know existed until two hours ago. He didn’t know why, and he felt like an idiot going to these lengths for him, but it felt… right. Like this was what he was supposed to do.

Deimos stared silently at Runaan, who stared back, unflinching. Tiadrin and Lain could almost feel the tension in the air as they had their soundless standoff. It wasn’t just them, either. Many of the nearby tables had hushed down, looking uneasily at the elder assassin. The elves were quietly standing up and leaving, moving slowly as if not to wake a pit of Soulfang serpents. Deimos held Runaan’s gaze for one moment longer, before his lip curled, sighing irritably as he straightened back up.

“Very well.” Deimos practically forced the words between his teeth. “Have,  _ Ethari _ , remake your sword. I’ll speak with the other instructors to focus on your archery, stealth, and basic spellcasting for the time being. And Runaan,” He leaned down to his face, almost nose-to-nose with the younger elf, “if this so-called _ balance issue _ doesn’t show improvement when you receive your sword back, I am going to be very,  _ very  _ displeased. Am I understood?”

Runaan nodded, his back stiff as a board as Deimos dipped his head and turned away in a flourish, striding through the hall and disappearing into the night.

The entire table finally let go of the collective breath they had been holding. Runaan held his forehead in his hands, willing his knees not to shake. Tiadrin laughed nervously as the tension left her body.

“Holy shit, I was so certain you were going to get your head bitten off, Runaan! You might be his favorite, but Avizandum, don’t push him so hard while we’re standing in the crossfire!” She raked a hand through her hair, her sky blue eyes wide.

“Yeah,” Lain rubbed his arms, giving Runaan an accusatory look. “That was too much, even for you.” Tiadrin wrapped him in a hug, kissing his cheek comfortingly. Runaan rolled his eyes at the gesture. Couples. You gotta love ‘em.

“Well, it worked.” He pointed out, gathering his dinnerware to bring to the elves on cleaning duty. “He didn’t tell me to cancel my request, so,” Runaan stood up from the table, Tiadrin and Lain doing the same as they walked to the kitchen area, depositing their dinnerware.

“I’ve never seen you go so far to get underneath Deimos’ skin before, Runaan.” Lain noted as they exited the dining hall, breathing in the fresh nighttime air and relishing the light of the waxing moon on their skin. “You’re always the type to just suffer in silence. The Master Craftsman must really be someone special.” Tiadrin cast a glance to Runaan, a glint in her eyes. 

“Is it true?” She asked him, “is that how you feel about him?”

Runaan only shrugged his shoulders. In truth, he was just as confused as they were. Why  _ was _ he going so far for Ethari? Why  _ did _ he feel the need to defend him, to the point where he purposefully got onto Deimos’ nerves? Why, every time Runaan thought of Ethari, did he get a weird, strange feeling in his chest, that made him feel like he was about to fall?

He didn’t know. And he wasn’t exactly sure he wanted to find out.

* * *

Selena jumped onto Ethari’s counter, padding to the bowl of fresh moonberries he always kept on top. She delicately munched on the sweet fruits, purring in satisfaction. Drawing her tongue across her whiskers a few times, cleaning off the juice, she turned her head to gaze out the window.

Moonlight poured into the kitchen, making Selena’s fur glisten and her eyes shine. Around her, the air hummed with magic. To her, the moon looked like a giant eye. When the eye was closed, its power and magic slept. When it was open, its magic was awake. Selena pondered this, and from her feline, celestial imagination, appeared what the elf she lived with called a poem.

“ _ Eye of the night, _

_ Nestled amongst the stars, _

_ Magic seen wide and far, _

_ Reflects the light, _

_ Of its sister sun, _

_ As life reflects its sister, _

_ Death, _ ”

She sneezed. As quickly as they had appeared, the words vanished, her mind once again only containing moonlight, reflections, and serenity. Flicking her ear, she hopped back to the floor, graceful as a flowing river, and silently walked through the craftsman elf’s home and into his front room.

The elf was right where she had left him. He had fallen asleep at his work desk again, his limp fingers just barely holding onto his pencil, which was in need of a good sharpening. Several crumpled papers were strewn about by his feet, and yet more littered the table. Selena had to step lightly as she padded across the table, circling three times before settling beside the elf’s head, curling up into a ball. The elf stirred, but did not wake. Selena sniffed. He had been hard at work for the new elf, that was for sure. Between how Selena felt his heart race as he was duelling the other elf, and how he talked to him, even she knew that this elf was something else.

Selena tilted her head thoughtfully. She had only seen the elf for a few minutes, but she didn’t need her natural magic to sense that he was more than just another elf seeking help from the craftsman.

His presence in the home of her elf was like a new star winking into the sky. He was unfamiliar, unseen, yet it felt as if he belonged. Selena didn’t know why, but she knew in her soul that the elf… Runaan… he was more. How so, she wasn’t sure. He was just… more.

“ _ Threads of fate _

_ Twisted and twisting _

_ Growing as fast as they tear _

_ Leaping carefully, from path _

_ To path _

_ Until another comes _

_ And suddenly _

_ The future is recast _

_ As a broken sword _

_ Is reforged anew _ .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update will for sure be on Saturday! Have a nice week!


	3. Memories of Times Long Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone is doing well! I love and appreciate all of you!

“Shoot.”

Runaan immediately held out the bow, drawing back the cord along with the arrow between his fingers with practiced ease. He closed one of his eyes, aiming the tip of the arrow at the target seventy yards away. He breathed slowly, relaxed his shoulders, his stance wide as the tension in his fingers became almost too strong to hold back. 

He inhaled deeply, opened his eye, and let the arrow loose.

The cord snapped forward, flinging the arrow past the riser of the bow, where it flew across the field and embedded itself into the target, right in the dead center of the bull’s eye. Runaan’s mouth ticked in almost a smirk as he heard Tiadrin and Lain loudly applaud from the sidelines, the rest of the elves in training clapping politely as Runaan ran to retrieve the arrow, yanking it from the target and blowing off dust from the tip.

“That makes your final score one-hundred out of one-hundred.” The archery instructor, Elara, announced in her raspy voice, nodding to Runaan as he handed her the bow and arrow. “The only perfect score of the day. Well done.”

“Thank you.” He replied. He moved back into his place in the line of elves, Tiadrin instantly nudging his shoulder.

“Show off.” She whispered to him, earning a sideways glare from Runaan. “Leave  _ something _ for us other elves to excel at!”

“If you actually put in the effort to practice as much as I do, you might actually do as well as I do.” He pointed out bluntly. Tiadrin gave a scandalized gasp, while Lain struggled not to snicker beside her.

“How  _ dare _ you.” She growled at him, no real malice in her words.

“ _ Ahem _ .” Elara cleared her throat, waiting as the elves quieted down, raising her eyebrow in particular at Tiadrin, who elbowed Runaan one more time before facing forward to pay attention.

“All of you who achieved over an eighty-five, line up for another round. Since the bar has been set at one-hundred, I want you all to have a score of at least ninety-five or above before archery training ends. Those of you who scored below eighty-five, move to the practice targets before you step in line.” She instructed. This was per usual for archery practice. As it was right before finals, they needed to have the highest possible chance of passing, so training was cracking down. All the elves took turns shooting ten times at a target. The highest elf’s score was the score all the others had to meet or beat. Runaan was the only one of the elf trainees, however, to achieve a perfect score, so Elara, being older and more experienced in dealing with youngsters, was understanding enough to cut the others some slack.

“Runaan.” Elara addressed him as the elves moved into their positions. He dipped his head respectfully to her.

“Yes?”

“Since you have already met and exceeded my expectations for archery training,” she brushed a strand of her silvery hair out of her face, “you can be done for the day.”

Runaan raised his eyebrows in mild surprise. “Are you sure?” Runaan asked her. He was never one to turn in early, even when the instructors themselves had given him permission. “I was planning on just practicing with the other targets, if that’s alright with you.”

Elara nodded her head. “True, that is a good way to spend your time. However, I believe you have something better to do in regards to your training.”

Runaan’s brow furrowed, the gears in his head turning before it came to him. His sword.

The thoughts of his sword had slipped to the back of his mind when his daily training had begun, as most things do with Runaan. He had almost completely forgotten that he was asked to check in with Ethari to monitor the progress he was making. Now that he was thinking about it, this was the perfect time to do so. He would check in with Ethari early, and make it down to dinner at a reasonable time.

He bowed politely to Elara, thanking her one last time, before jogging to the benches and shouldering his pack, the training supplies and books shifting around as he went on his way. Waving to Tiadrin and Lain, who were waiting for their turns to shoot and were watching him leave, he set his pace to a brisk walk and made his way up to Ethari’s forge.

Walking through the Silvergrove was always something Runaan more-or-less enjoyed. The day was pleasantly cloudy, providing the village with occasional shade from the bright afternoon sun. Xadian songbirds flew overhead, sometimes even coming down to the open fruit shops for a snack from the elves tending their stock. Elves came and went throughout the village, calling greetings to one another and working their many jobs, from building new homes within the large trees to training Shadowpaws in the open fields.

Runaan made his way quickly through the village, responding to every greeting with a nod. He felt a bit awkward, as training had not quite ended and he didn’t like the curious looks on his back. He could practically hear their thoughts. “ _ Why is that boy here so early?” _ Breaking into a run, he quickly climbed the stairs to the forge, panting as he reached the top, the double doors waiting for him as they were yesterday.

Shaking the hair off his forehead, wiping the few beads of sweat that had accumulated on his neck, he mentally went over how he would address Ethari when he went in. He was not going back to where the forge was,  _ that _ was for sure. Runaan decided that if Ethari wasn’t in the main shop when he walked in, he would wait until he came out. Nodding, he reached out to knock on the door, but it opened before he could connect his knuckles. 

Stepping back in surprise, he looked around in confusion, as there was no elf on the other side of the door. He was about to call out, thinking that someone was playing a prank on him, before he heard a familiar soft “ _ meow _ ”.

Exhaling a quiet “ _ oh _ ”, Runaan looked down to meet Selena’s metallic eyes. She was in her elfish form, her hands gripping the door as she peeked out like a shy child. She blinked when Runaan inclined his head to her, then grinned her wide, feline grin.

“Greetings, Selena.” Runaan addressed her formally, not quite sure how he should talk to the werecat. She cocked her head to him, only staring back silently, her expression unchanging. That was helpful. “I’m here to see Ethari. Is he in there right now?”

Selena tilted her head, pursing her lips in a very elf-like manner, as if she was deciding something. She thought for one moment, before extending her hand and beckoning him inside.

Runaan, after a heartbeat of deliberation, followed the werecat as she padded inside, her feet making no sound against the floor as she closed the door behind Runaan. Tugging on Runaan’s sleeve, she pointed down the hall in the shop, then made a series of hand motions at Runaan.

“Huh?” Runaan didn’t know what the werecat meant. Selena frowned at him, making the hand gestures at him again, only slower. She brushed her fingers against her cheeks, pointed to the hallway, then knocked the sides of her fists together. Runaan’s confusion must have been very evident on his face, because Selena threw up her hands in frustration, making a growling noise.

Selena pointed sharply to Runaan, then traced two fingers across her nose, giving Runaan a meaningful look. Runaan realized with a flash that she was mimicking where Runaan’s facial markings were. “Me?” He asked her, pointing to himself. She nodded vigorously, then repeated brushing her hands down her cheeks, pointing to the hallway.

“Oh! Ethari!” The corner of Runaan’s mouth ticked in an almost-smile when she nodded to him again, purring. He felt foolish now that he hadn’t recognized that Selena was drawing where Ethari’s marks were. She made the last sign again, knocking her fists together sideways. Runaan tilted his head in thought.

“He’s… making something?” The gesture reminded him of someone drawing a sword from its sheath. “A sword?”

She shook her head no, making the gesture again, but this time she fully drew an imaginary sword and waved it around, blowing air through her mouth as she mimicked the sword slashing through the wind.

“He’s… sword fighting?” Runaan guessed. Selena froze and stared at him, her eyes wide. Runaan read the ‘keep going’ face loud and clear. Okay, Ethari was sword fighting, but who would he be fighting against, and why would he be fighting at this time of day… 

Runaan smacked his hand on his fist when the answer presented itself to him. “He’s training!” He announced triumphantly. He almost smiled again when Selena meowed loudly, clapping her hands and hopping up and down. She beckoned him once more with her hands, then raced down the hall, Runaan running after her, feeling light on his feet. Selena passed by all the rooms and reached the end of the hall, where she opened a door on the back wall, Runaan realizing that it led outside.

Slowing his pace so as to not fly out the door and make a fool of himself, he squinted as the sun glared at him, his eyes taking a moment to adjust to the light. Selena tapped his shoulder, Runaan following her gaze as she pointed to the center of the field of grass that lay outside of the door, where Runaan saw the person that he had come to see.

Ethari appeared to be in the middle of an intense, invisible battle. He was moving swiftly and gracefully, holding a long, double-bladed polearm, which glinted in the sun as he slashed and jabbed at his imaginary opponents, turning and rolling as he faced the next one, parrying and attacking as if he was in the midst of a real battle.

Runaan watched in awe as Ethari moved. He leapt and swung his weapon with such power, Runaan could almost see the opponents fall at Ethari’s feet. Ethari feinted and slashed the chest of an attacker, then twirled around to block another oncoming blow, thrusting his polearm forward to throw his enemy off balance, before charging and spearing them through the heart, whirling his polearm in his hands as he caught his breath, before he threw himself back into his imaginary battle. Runaan’s eyes widened as Ethari grasped the middle of his polearm, twisted in in his hands, then separated the blades into two curved broadswords, which he swiped together, the metal making a sharp ‘ _ sssshing _ ’ sound, before slashing them at his opponents once more.

As he continued his fighting, Runaan discovered with a shock that he recognized the techniques Ethari was using. He swiped and slashed using the patterns of feinting, parrying, jabbing and slashing Runaan was learning in his own swordsmanship class, except while Runaan was still a bit iffy with two blades, Ethari wielded his with deadly accuracy.

“ _ A slash to the right after blocking a sword from the left _ .” Runaan muttered in his head as he predicted the next move. As if on cue, Ethari lifted his left sword against an invisible blade, then slashed to the right side of his opponent with his other sword, Runaan almost hearing the blade as it ripped through imaginary cloth and flesh.

“ _ Roll under an attack from behind, _ ” he thought as Ethari tucked into a forward somersault, evading the imaginary blade that would have slashed at his neck, “ _ then bring up the swords in cross formation to block again _ .” Ethari whirled around against the enemy, bringing his swords together to stop an overhead slash, then sliced them outward, surging up and crossing his swords on the enemy’s neck, then slashed, cleanly taking off the head of the opponent.

“ _ Jab with the left sword underneath the collarbone _ ,” Ethari parried another hit and thrust his sword forward, “ _ turn and feint left again while slashing right _ ,” his swords whistled through the air as he swiped again, “ _ bring both swords up and slice downward with all your power _ ,” Ethari let out a yell as he slashed his swords in a fatal overhead strike, “ _ and drop sideways and strike!” _ Ethari dropped to his left knee as a sword whistled past his head, and before his imaginary opponent could react, he leapt up and drove his swords through the enemy’s chest.

Runaan, before he could stop himself, let out a cry of victory, way too into the moment. Ethari, still in full-battle mode, whipped his head to Runaan’s direction, and before he recognized who Runaan was, launched one of his swords towards him, which whizzed through the air and embedded itself deep into the wood of the doorframe, only mere inches away from Runaan’s face.

Runaan gasped as the metal blade wobbled dangerously close to his eyes, backing up several paces from the sword. All his thoughts had gone dark, the only thing in his mind was the sound of his rapidly beating heart. In the field, Ethari finally came back to reality, instantly recognizing the elf, his eyes going as wide as moons. 

“HOLY DRAGONFIRE, ARE YOU ALRIGHT, RUNAAN?!” He sprinted quickly to the other boy’s side, his mouth open and his face full of shock and concern.

Runaan stared for one moment more at the sword, before facing Ethari’s panicked expression, clearing his throat and banishing the emotion from his face.

“I’m fine.” He did his best not to sound like he just nearly had his face taken off by a flying sword. “Just startled. I’m here for the check in for my sword.”

Ethari stared at Runaan as if he had just told him that the humans had grown wings. He opened and closed his mouth repeatedly, making incoherent sounds. Ethari finally took in Runaan’s very formal, serious face, before breaking down into full-blown laughter.

“Really?  _ Really?!” _ Ethari gasped in between breaths. “ _ That’s _ how you’re gonna- I just- you almost-” he cut off as another tidal wave of laughter carried him away. He held his sides, the sound of his bright voice echoing across the valley the Silvergrove was nestled in.

Runaan just stood there awkwardly, inwardly trying to fight the flush of embarrassment off his cheeks. That, and the weird feeling in his chest, which was back, and much,  _ much _ stronger than he had ever felt. To his dismay, it wasn’t just his chest that felt strange. His heart kept racing, even though the shock of the flying sword had worn off. The blush on his cheeks wasn’t just because he was embarrassed. Why? Why did he feel this way? What  _ was _ this feeling in the first place?!

Ethari, having run out of laughter, straightened back up, resting the sword he was holding on his shoulders, regarding Runaan with a humorous look. “In all seriousness,” He said to him, his expression becoming somber, “are you sure you’re okay? I mean, you probably have swords in your face all day in training, but damn, that must’ve given you a heart attack!” Runaan cleared his throat, finding it harder and harder to maintain eye contact with the other elf. 

“Yes, I’m fine.” He repeated. Not able to face Ethari’s concerned expression any longer, Runaan reached to his side and grasped the hilt of Ethari’s other blade, pulling it free from the wall with one sharp yank. Runaan handed it back to him, keeping his eyes fixed on the blade. “Though what you said is right, normally when swords come flying at my face, I’m expecting it.”

Ethari laughed again, accepting the blade from Runaan and wiping the splinters off of it with his bracers. “I bet.” He replied, inspecting the sword for any wood chip stragglers. “No matter how you live your life, you’re gonna have a sword come flying at your face at one point. Better sooner than later.” Putting the ends of the blade hilts together, Ethari twisted them back together, the reformed polearm giving an audible click before he strapped it on his back.

Runaan stared at the bladed weapon, the sun gleaming off of its edge, like a wink from death saying “ _ next time _ .” He decided not to contemplate what his fate would have been if Ethari had thrown the blade with a tad more accuracy, and to instead focus on the weapon itself.

“I’ve never seen a polearm like that.” He gestured to it, making Ethari twist his head to regard it thoughtfully. “It’s… a beautiful weapon.”

Ethari grinned at Runaan. “Really? That means so much coming from you, Runaan.” Ethari scratched the back of his head shyly. “Considering I’m the one who forged it.”

Runaan’s eyes went wide. “ _ You  _ made that?” Ethari nodded, chuckling.

“Yeah. It was one of my first projects after my…” He trailed off, his eyes suddenly becoming wistful as he stared off into space. “After I fully inherited the forge.” Runaan blinked at Ethari’s sudden change in mood, his heart pulling a little bit.

“Fully inherited…?” Runaan asked. Ethari looked back at Runaan, then shook his head, as if to clear away his thoughts.

“It’s nothing, really.” Ethari began to walk back into the shop, motioning with his hand for Runaan to follow. “I had a rather weird way of growing up, at least, according to Silvergrove standards.” Runaan had to jog to keep up with him as they emerged from the hall into one of the rooms at the beginning of the hallway; the drawing room. Ethari took off his polearm and leaned it onto the only part of the wall that wasn’t covered by the large shelves holding scores of crafting books. He then walked briskly to the large, angled drawing table, rifling through the many papers on top of it.

“Weird way of growing up?” Runaan echoed. “How so?” He took a seat on one of the few stools in the room, folding his hands on his lap as he watched Ethari go through his papers.

“Ah, where do I even begin?” Ethari inspected one of the papers, before shaking his head and putting it back down. He paused for a moment in his work to turn and face Runaan, leaning back against the table as he recalled his memories.

“My parents were assassins,” He said, “among the very elite Moonshadow elf warriors, and two of the many elves that were tasked with keeping watch over The Border with Avizandum.”

Runaan was silent. He had heard stories of the Borderguard, how they stood side by side with the King of the Dragons, and how they kept a vigilant watch on The Border for any humans that dared to try and cross over. 

“They served their posts faithfully for years, only returning to the Silvergrove for their anniversary, or sometimes during the week of the Blue Moon Festival. Afterward, they would return to The Border and continue their watch.” A smile grew on Ethari’s face. “Until one year, when they had to temporarily postpone their duties and remain at the Silvergrove… because they had me.”

Ethari reached up and started to fiddle with his purple scarf. Runaan nodded quietly, urging him to continue. He was listening intently to the story, and deep down, he really wanted to get to know the other elf better.

“Of course, they couldn’t stay with me here for long.” A melancholy ache wove into Ethari’s voice. “They had to return to their duty. The most time away they could spare was two years. After, they departed back to The Border to resume their posts.”

“Who took care of you?” Runaan asked. He sat cross-legged on the stool, leaning forward as far as he could to listen.

“While my parents were away, I grew up with my grandparents.” Ethari smiled fondly. “My father’s parents, to be exact, but they dearly loved my mother all the same. They used to be the Weapons Masters in the Silvergrove, supplying any weapon you could think of. You name it, they would make it. But despite how much work they had day in and day out, they always made sure they were spending time with me, teaching me about the forge and how it worked. Though they were old, they were energetic and kind. The same hands that made weapons of death also tucked me in at night and held me close. They made sure that I had the experience of two loving parents, even if my real parents couldn’t give it to me.”

Runaan inclined his head as Ethari pulled up his own stool, sitting down as he continued his story. “My parents made an effort, however, to be a part of my life as much as they could. They wrote to me every chance they could, and they tried to visit the Silvergrove more to spend time with me. I remember once it was my birthday, and they had surprised me by coming home for a full week. I was so happy then…” Ethari sighed, leaning his elbow on the table, head in hand. His smile was gone, replaced by a sorrowful frown. “I wish it could have lasted.”

Runaan opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. He didn’t know what to say. “What…” he clenched his hands together, the words like lead in his mouth, “what happened?”

Ethari sighed again heavily. He held his scarf in one hand, his eyes staring at something Runaan couldn’t see.

“They had found a group of humans that were crossing into Xadia using a cliff behind the lavafall. They confronted them, but one of them possessed a horrible kind of dark, dark magic, and…” Ethari paused, then drew a deep breath. “None of the Borderguard survived. By the time Avizandum arrived to aid them, the humans had fled back to the West… and the elves had all been slaughtered.” Ethari clasped his hands in front of his face. His eyes closed for a moment, his breath turning shaky. “Avizandum himself sent a Shadowhawk to my grandparents, telling them what had happened. They were devastated. They mourned for two days before I had finally worked up the courage to ask them what had happened. I was fourteen.” 

Runaan was shocked. All he had heard about the deaths of the Borderguard elves was that humans had killed them. But with dark magic… he shuddered when he thought of it. Taking the lives of magical creatures to use them for evil spells. He pressed his lips together, his heart sinking as he pictured Ethari learning of his parents’ deaths. How that must’ve felt…

“It was too much on my grandparents’ hearts.” Ethari barely whispered loud enough for Runaan to hear. “They worked slower and slower, asking me to help them work more and more often. Eventually, it all came to an end. When the winter came two years ago, they both got very, very ill. By that time, I had practically taken over the work in the forge, but it was all I could do to keep my spirit hopeful. One day, I had gone to awaken them for lunch, and…” He fell silent. Runaan’s eyes widened when he saw Ethari’s expression. It was heart-wrenching, mournful, but there were no tears. Just a deep, deep sadness. “They had passed away together in their sleep. It was almost comforting. They had been married for over forty-five years, and they had been together for much longer, and it wouldn’t make sense if they didn’t leave together, either. They’re buried beneath the same tree they were married under. Where their story began… and ended.”

Runaan blinked as Ethari’s story drew to a close. He blinked again to dispel the mistiness in his eyes. To think… that someone as cheerful, hopeful, and happy as Ethari could have such a sorrowful story… Before he knew what he was doing, Runaan stood up from his stool and walked over to Ethari. He held out his hand, hesitated for a brief moment, then laid it onto Ethari’s shoulder.

“I’m…” Runaan cleared his throat as Ethari looked up at him, “I’m sorry. It must have been hard.” 

“ _ Damn. You are  _ really _ bad at this _ .” Runaan thought to himself. But, the truth was Runaan had no idea what to do. His mother had passed away a short time after Runaan was born. His father, stricken with grief, had done everything he could to distract himself from his loss, eventually taking what was essentially a suicide mission. Runaan didn’t remember either of them, and he found he couldn’t mourn what he had never known. But, looking at Ethari, he saw how much he had loved and cared for his parents and grandparents. And to lose them both, in such a short period of time… Runaan didn’t know what it was like. He could only offer his sympathy, as unused to offering it as he was, and hope it meant something to him.

And it did. Ethari smiled at Runaan, exhaling through his mouth, as recounting his sad story took a lot out of him. “Thank you.” He stood up from his stool, shaking out his hands. “Whew, that wore me out a bit!” Ethari’s voice was regaining its chipperness. “I haven’t told many people about… well, what I just told you. It’s a lot harder than you’d think.”

Runaan’s brows furrowed at his words. “What do you mean, you haven’t told many people? You see other elves all the time, right?”

“Well, yeah, I suppose,” Ethari began to sort through his papers again, spreading them out as he searched. “But none of them really talk to me. Well, of course they talk to me, but they don’t, y’know,  _ talk _ talk to me. They just ask me to do something, give me their thanks when I do it, then go about on their merry way.”

Wow. That was  _ really _ depressing. Runaan clenched his jaw as his heart became heavy. “Really?” He asked Ethari. “None of them make the effort to have just a conversation with you? They just… make their orders, take them, and leave?”

“Pretty much.” Ethari clicked his tongue as he continued his rifling around in his papers.

Runaan narrowed his eyes. “That’s a load of dragon-” he caught himself before he swore, “that’s not right. Why wouldn’t they try to get to know you? I can think of plenty of reasons you’re worth more than just a weaponsmith! You’re a good person, and they’re fools for not seeing it.”

Runaan’s jaw snapped shut as the words left his mouth. Oh Xadia, what did he just say?! Ethari stopped what he was doing and stared at Runaan, his eyes wide as a blush grew on his cheeks. Runaan pressed his lips together, determined to look him in the eye as his own blush deepened to what he was sure to be a healthy rose. He might wish he had not said them out loud, but he meant every word. He truly believed Ethari was… special. Not point in trying to deny it, that was how he felt. The feeling in his chest was back, and this time, he was able to more-or-less discern what it felt like: fluttering. A fluttering feeling.

Ethari’s face broke out in a grin. He turned back to the table, his blush growing even more. “Really?” He whispered. “You really think that about me?”

Runaan answered without hesitation. “Yes.” He had gone this far, and he had the feeling that backing out would only make things worse. “I trust you, Ethari. I trust that you’ll do what you’re meant to do, and you’ll be the greatest.”

Ethari laughed lightly. Sifting one last time through his papers, he finally found what he was looking for. “Here it is! I knew I put it in here somewhere!” He held up a long, thin sheet of paper, waving it around victoriously. He faced Runaan, a look of resolute determination in his wide smile. 

“Don’t worry, Runaan.” He swept the remaining papers to one side of the table, a few of them falling off and fluttering to the floor. “I’ll give it my all to live up to your image of me. I haven’t ever let anyone down before, and I most definitely will not start with you! I’m going to put my everything into this job you gave me,” Ethari slammed the paper down, Runaan gasping at what its contents were, “and give you a weapon greater than any in the history of Xadia!”

The paper Ethari had been looking for held the design for what was foretold to be Runaan’s sword; only it wasn’t just any sword. It was going to be an elegantly beautiful, deadly weapon. 

The blade, instead of its former rail-straight shape, was curved upward, tapering into a wickedly sharp point. The bottom of the metal was wider at the hilt, and, according to the detailed drawing, was going to be forged to resemble overlapping flower petals. The hilt was also curved, with notches for better grip that his old sword lacked. According to the notes written in Ethari’s small, spiky handwriting, the main color of the hilt was dark, rich navy blue, vines of a slightly lighter green decorating it. To Runaan’s growing awe, there was no traditional guard. Instead was a crescent shaped piece fitted to the end of the hilt. And, embedded at the very tip of the hilt, was a small ovoid sphere of sea turquoise that formed the pommel.

Runaan stared with wide eyes at the design, hardly believing what he was seeing. When Ethari had questioned Runaan yesterday, he had been paying close attention to his answers. Everything, from the shape of the blade to its colors and the pommel of turquoise, was completely unique and exactly how Runaan pictured it. Runaan delicately brushed a finger across the design, as if it was a dream that would soon fade to nothing. This blade looked  _ nothing _ like what Deimos called ‘traditional swords’. This weapon was elegant, clever, and was without a doubt stronger, lighter, and would bring death swifter than any other sword Runaan had ever seen. 

Ethari glanced back and forth between the speechless Runaan and his sword design. He fiddled nervously with his scarf, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Did he like it? Was it what he had pictured when he was thinking of his new sword? Ethari was worried that he hadn’t given Runaan enough time to really think about how he wanted his sword to look like and function. He was so rushed to hurry his normal process to reforge Runaan’s sword as soon as possible, he hadn’t taken into consideration that Runaan might have changed his mind. 

“Do you,” Ethari swallowed past the lump in his throat, “do you like it?”

Runaan looked away from the design to Ethari. To Ethari’s surprise, the expression on Runaan’s face was pure delight.

“Like it?!” He smiled widely. “It’s beautiful! It’s exactly the kind of sword I was hoping for!” He looked back at the design excitedly. “The guard won’t get in my way anymore! It’s curved just the way I wanted to be! I never even thought you would put actual decorative designs on it, but you did! I love it!”

Ethari was shocked. Quick as lightning, the lump in his throat turned into butterflies. His cheeks flushed a deep rose. This was the first time he had seen Runaan smile. It wasn’t a huge, ear-to-ear grin, but it didn’t have to be. It lit up his whole face and made his turquoise eyes shine. Runaan always looked like a cold, menacing assassin, but when he smiled…

It felt as if the moon would never wane again, as long as Runaan smiled his beautiful smile.

“I… I…” Ethari cleared his throat and looked down, grinning as he scratched his neck. “I’m glad you like it. I was worried that I was moving the process too fast, and not giving you enough time to really put thought into your sword.”

Runaan inclined his head. “I’d say that would be my fault if I didn’t, wouldn’t it? You’re so busy, and holding you up with just one job would be dishonorable.” He blushed too, but looked off to the side before he could see Ethari’s face redden even more. “I am very pleased with this design. I’m certain it will serve me well in the years to come.”

Ethari grinned, clasping his hands in front of his chest. “Wonderful! I’m so happy we both love the design! Oh, making this sword is going to be a decent bit of work, but it’ll be so worth it!” He clapped his hands gleefully, his expression turning mischievous. “Oh, I can’t wait to see the look on Deimos’ face when you finally best him in a fight! That’ll be priceless!”

Runaan snorted and gave Ethari a weird look. “You and Deimos  _ really _ aren’t the best of acquaintances, are you?”

“Oh, he hates me.” Runaan almost choked at Ethari’s blunt answer. “And I don’t particularly like him, either. He had his own vision for what I was going to be, and I had a different one. I refused to do what he ordered me to do, and now I’m on his shit list for the rest of eternity.”

“His own vision?” Runaan’s eyes widened as he put the pieces together. Deimos’ constant talking down to Ethari, as if he had disappointed him. Ethari’s familiar and flawless sword fighting technique. “You used to train underneath Deimos?!”

Ethari barked a laugh. “I know, right?! It shocks a lot of people who care to ask.”

Runaan was gobsmacked. “What… why-  _ what?” _ To train under Deimos, the leader of the Moonshadow elf assassins, the most skilled warrior in the Silvergrove, was a high honor and a privilege. Why would any elf sacrifice that?

Ethari snorted as he picked up Runaan’s sword design, looking it over absently. Runaan watched as his gaze became distant.

“Simple.” Ethari said. “He’s said and done some things that never sat right with me.”

“How so?” Runaan found himself asking.

Ethari sighed. “Ah, what can I say?” He scratched the back of his head, staring out the window at Selena, who was chasing a playful songbird in the training field, morphing back and forth between her elf and cat form.

“Deimos and my mother were friends, once upon a time.” He began. Runaan raised an eyebrow. Deimos? Had a friend? It was easier to believe the humans had gained magic. Nevertheless, he listened.

“They were training partners, both of them set on becoming co-leaders of the assassins. They devoted their whole lives to training ‘till their hearts nearly gave out. They were close friends… but, they were different. Deimos was completely and utterly focused on becoming an assassin. He let nothing else into his life. My mother was focused, too, but she had more than that. She understood that there was more to life than just doing your duties. She allowed herself to open her heart… and she fell in love.” To Runaan’s surprise, Ethari’s expression soured.

“Deimos was… to put it lightly,  _ extremely against _ the idea of my mother marrying my father. It was… still is, actually, his belief that having a close relationship like that would only weaken you. Make you too soft for the work of an assassin. In the end, that’s what he blamed their deaths on. Their relationship.”

Runaan felt his mouth go dry. He was appalled by this new view of Deimos… but, honestly not surprised. Now that he thought about it, Ethari’s words made perfect sense. Back during swordsmanship training, Deimos would always roll his eyes and scoff whenever Tiadrin and Lain sparred against each other. Though they were excellent fighters and held nothing back, if one knocked the other down just a little too hard, they would apologize fervently, often with a kiss on the cheek. Deimos would then bark at them to switch partners, a little extra disgust in his tone. 

“I can see where you’re coming from…” Runaan tapped his finger against the table in thought. “But where do you fit into all of this?”

Ethari chuckled dryly. “One of the many, how would you say,  _ perks _ of my mom being a friend of Deimos’ was that he spent a little more time with me than the other elves. He watched me train as I got old enough to, eventually becoming my instructor, and even taught me one-on-one how to dual-wield twin swords. He had this grand vision that I would become an assassin to match him, even surpass him. For a while, I flirted with the idea that yeah, maybe I would. Both my parents were assassins, so why not I?”

“Why didn’t you?” Runaan asked.

Ethari paused. His lip curled. “He only saw my skill and prowess… and not my heart. I may be a trained warrior, Runaan, but I am not a killer. Especially without good reason. How can I? Life is precious to me. I learned its value long before my training started. I learned again when my parents were killed. I knew then, that I could never take the life of another if it meant that somewhere out in the world, a small child was left without a parent.”

Runaan considered Ethari’s words. One of the first lessons in assassin training was that no matter the reason, or situation, taking someone’s life was an act that should never be performed gladly. Life was precious to all, and once it ended, there was no going back. Runaan understood this. He, however, knew in his heart that if it was for the protection of Xadia and all he held dear, he could kill. No matter how much the person meant to others. 

However, he continued listening to Ethari’s story without interruption. He knew that Ethari was not the same person as he was, and that was okay.

“I wanted to do more. I was working in the forge almost full time, and I was putting off more and more of my training. Deimos had told me he would understand, but I knew he never did. He always had that look of contempt when I told him I had to leave to work. It only got worse and worse, and while I was questioning more and more if I really  _ did _ want to complete my assassin training, I couldn’t find reason to abandon it. Until…”

“Until… what?”

Ethari’s face darkened. His hands clenched into fists on the table. Runaan, despite himself, almost took a step back from the other elf. 

“We were training one night. I was not into it at all. All Deimos was doing was trying to teach me killing moves. ‘Slash harder! Tilt you blade toward the neck more! Make their blood coat the ground and run rivers of red!’” He clenched his jaw at the memory. “I hated it. I hated everything about it. As if causing death was the only work an assassin could ever do.”

“‘I’m tired of this!’ I had yelled after I had finished my set of killing patterns. ‘I can’t take this anymore! All you want me to do is kill, kill, kill! I don’t want my life to be full of bloodshed like this!’ He had curled his lip at me. ‘What, are you saying that you’re going to be an assassin who doesn’t kill? Wake up, boy! This is what must be done, for the sake of the Silvergrove and all of Xadia! You have a duty you need to uphold!’ I wasn’t going to say anything more. I picked up my sword and started to prepare for another set of patterns I hated, biting my tongue and seriously considering dropping out of my training. Then he said something to me that solidified my choice of leaving the assassins.”

Ethari uncurled his clenched hands, splaying them out on the table. His next words were barely above a whisper.

“‘Don’t repeat your mother’s mistake. She was a woman of dedication, but she had become soft-willed when she ran away with  _ that elf _ . Her death was all because she allowed herself to become blinded with…  _ love _ . She lost her way, and she paid the price.’”

Runaan was shocked. His heart stopped when Ethari’s story truly sank in. He stared at Ethari as he pushed up from the table, sighing and looking at the ceiling.

“I left then. I left without a word. From then on, I dedicated myself to completely taking over the forge on my own. I stopped coming to training; I had practically completed it, anyway. I rarely saw Deimos after that. It was better for me, in a way. I doubt I could even look him in the eyes after what he’s done.” Ethari pressed his lips into a thin line. No. He couldn’t look at those cold, dust gray eyes with a straight face. Too much damage had been done.

“… He really said that to you?” Runaan muttered. He clenched his hands into fists. “That’s… That’s…” He slammed his hand onto the table, startling Ethari as his papers went flying in all directions.

“THAT’S UNFORGIVABLE!” He yelled. His turquoise eyes flared with anger. “WHAT KIND OF ELF WOULD EVER SAY SOMETHING LIKE THAT?!” Rage filled his entire being top to bottom. Runaan had always known that Deimos was an uncaring and callous elf, but to say something like  _ that _ , to someone like Ethari… Runaan had only had a degree of respect for Deimos before, but now? Consider it completely gone.

“Hey, whoa, Runaan!” Ethari frantically scooped up his papers, depositing them back onto his desk. “Cool down! It’s not that big of a deal! It was a long time ago, and I-”

“It  _ is _ a big deal, Ethari!” Runaan’s face twisted with anger and another emotion Ethari could not name. “No one,  _ no one  _ should ever have to hear those words! I’ve never lost someone who mattered to me like you have, but I’m not so emotionally dense that I can’t understand how it must feel!”

“I never said you were!” Ethari shouted back to him, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender.

“Well, everyone else does!” Runaan cried out, throwing his hands in the air in frustration. Having blown off the last of his steam, he sighed and hung his head angrily. Ethari blinked at the other elf, not sure what to say and looking  _ mildly _ uncomfortable.

Runaan scowled at the floor at his feet, a flush on his cheeks. He was still angry, don’t get him wrong, but he had said some things towards the end of his rant that he probably  _ shouldn’t  _ have said. He might have some sort of… connection with Ethari that he didn’t have with other elves, but he was still reluctant to express any emotion other than his signature cool, menacing guise. He curled his lip. He  _ hated _ his feelings.

“I…” Ethari gulped as Runaan glared up at him. Dropping his gaze to the floor, Ethari shuffled his feet as he prepared for what was sure to be a big mistake. “I’ve… I’ve never seen someone feel so strongly about what… what Deimos said to me.” He held his arms and chuckled lightly. “I’m surprised you even believed me. I would’ve never thought that you would have just accepted that Deimos was a… well, even more of a… you know.” He waved his hands vaguely, making Runaan snort to conceal his laugh.

“Are you implying that just because I’m the top trainee, Deimos actually treats me with any amount of respect?”

“I- well…” Ethari took one look at Runaan’s raised eyebrow, before cracking up with laughter. He held himself on the table with one hand and ran his other hand through his messy hair. “Pfft, well, now that I think about it, I guess that would be wishful thinking.”

Runaan’s mouth quirked in a smirk. The tension in his body slowly dissipated as he listened to Ethari laugh at himself. He blushed as he realized he liked that laugh. It was light and merry, and not overly obnoxious like Tiadrin’s, or loud like Lain’s. Runaan hummed thoughtfully as the fluttering in his chest returned. The unknown feeling was still weird to him, but… not entirely unpleasant.

“Well… I guess we learned one important thing today.” Runaan said after a minute of comfortable silence.

Ethari tilted his head questioningly. “And what’s that?”

“No matter who Deimos is with, he’ll always be an asshole.” He answered sagely, his expression completely straight.

Ethari’s mouth dropped open. He immediately covered it with both his hands to muffle yet another laughing fit. He stared at Runaan, pointing at him in amused horror.

“Runaan!” He said between laughs. “You can’t just say something like that!”

“Why not?” Runaan shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s not like either of us are going to tell him. I won’t, at least.” He fixed Ethari with an accusatory glare, smirking when he gasped dramatically.

“Well, it won’t just be my neck on the line if he finds out we’ve been talking about him, won’t it?” Ethari pouted as Runaan stifled snickers on the back of his hand. 

“Nope.” He gave Ethari a wry look. “No, it will not.”

All at once, the Silvergrove bell chimed through the village, breaking the quiet and making Ethari yelp in surprise. Runaan stood up in a flash, cursing under his breath as he ran out of the room.

“Shoot, I’m gonna be late!” He skidded to a stop by his pack, picking it up and shouldering it in a flourish. 

“Wait, Runaan, I haven’t told you about the sword forging process yet!” Ethari called after him, running through the forge as Runaan bolted out the door.

“No time! I’ll come by again, same time tomorrow!” He yelled over his shoulder as he leaped down the steps, racing the few minutes he had left to make it to dinner.

Ethari hung out his doorway. “I’ll be starting the blade shaping next!” He shouted to Runaan. “I’ll make sure to have the proper metals and the mold ready for the melting process! See you tomorrow, Runaan!” 

Runaan spared a glance over his shoulder to see Ethari waving at him from the doorway of his forge. His smile widened when Runaan waved back, before he disappeared into the main village, out of sight from the forge. As Runaan ran quickly to the dining hall, he was well aware of the blush on his cheeks. He just hoped that none of the elves who were watching him run through the village could notice.

“ _ See me again tomorrow, huh?” _ He mused to himself as he just barely made it in time, the elf on kitchen duty giving him a raised eyebrow as he took his place in line to wait for dinner. He avoided the stares he got from the elves in front of him as he scanned the hall for his friends. He spotted them waiting at their usual table, chatting idly as they waited for Runaan. “ _ This is a regular thing now, I suppose. _ ” Deimos would probably not be too pleased, but he himself had instructed Runaan to monitor the reforging process to make sure it was going smoothly. He was simply following orders… right?

Runaan thought about it for a minute, and found that he was truly looking forward to spending another afternoon visiting Ethari.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See ya'll next week! :)


	4. The Epiphany

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I NEARLY FORGOT TO POST I'M SORRY

The next few days had come and went, same as every other day, but to Runaan, they were the best days he had ever lived.

As he had predicted, Runaan had fallen into a familiar routine of visiting Ethari’s forge. After his classes of archery, hand-to-hand combat, stealth, and basic spellcasting, he left and spent an hour or two checking in with Ethari as he reforged his weapon. Once he heard the bell chiming, he would dash to dinner, always just barely making it on time. Tiadrin and Lain would then demand Runaan to tell them about what had occurred while he was visiting the forge. If he was in a good mood (he usually was after seeing Ethari), and if he didn’t see Deimos hovering nearby the table, watching him with his narrow gray eyes, he would roll his eyes and give them a play-by-play of his time with Ethari.

The third visit to Ethari’s forge was metal shaping day. Ethari had walked Runaan through the process in which the blade of his sword would be shaped. 

“The titanium from your old sword can be salvaged, but I’ll need a pinch more, as I need to be careful to keep the metal as pure as I can.” he explained as he used his hands, covered in heat-resistant gloves, to pry apart the red-hot sword blade, tossing aside the unneeded fragments and using a small knife to cut away the rest. Runaan watched from a safe distance. “Luckily, titanium is pretty common around here. I also recently got a new shipment of moonsteel, which is fantastic, as it’s really difficult to find and mine. I have more than enough for your blade, and for many others! Got any friends who need new weapons?”

Runaan shrugged. “Not really. It’s very kind of you to offer, but those two need to pass their finals before they get any new weapons.”

“Gotcha.”

The fourth day was forging day. Ethari had somehow convinced Runaan to go back into the large main forge, despite his wariness of it after it nearly set him on fire. However, he relented after Ethari insisted that the large cloak he had given him would protect him from the heat of the bellows, going as far as to toss it right into the flames and retrieve it, still in tip-top condition. Runaan had then watched in transfixed fascination as Ethari heated the metals until they were boiling liquids, then poured them into two sections of his mold, the titanium middle and the moonsteel edge, then he slammed them together, so they would fuse and cool to form the main shape of Runaan’s new blade. Afterwards, the two elves had sat in Ethari’s quaint little kitchen, snacking on fresh moonberries and oranges, until Runaan had to break for dinner.

The fifth day was hilt designing day. Runaan sat next to Ethari as he carved out the long, intricate design which was to be the hilt from the wood of a stonebark tree, using his large grinding stone to smooth out the edges until it was the perfect size and shape that Runaan approved of. Ethari then began to work on the metal fittings that were meant to balance the blade to Runaan’s needs. Despite hearing the bell, Runaan had stayed with Ethari, who had shyly invited him for dinner. Ethari, Runaan discovered, was not a bad cook. The fried Xadian salmon he prepared could rival the chef’s salmon anyday. On his way back home, he had passed Deimos, who was returning from the now empty dining hall. Deimos narrowed his eyes in silent staredown as Runaan walked by without sparing him a glance. Runaan’s relationship with the assassin had become… strained, to say the least, and Runaan knew that he didn’t like that Runaan was spending more and more time with Ethari.

“ _ Well, he can shove it _ .” Runaan thought to himself, sniffing as he walked through the village, waving an occasional greeting to elves who called his name. As it was an off day for the elves in training, he took the opportunity to ask Ethari the previous day if it was okay for him to come in early. Ethari had nodded delightfully, telling him to come as early as he wanted. Not wanting to overstay his welcome, he had decided to come a little after lunch, taking time to enjoy his walk through the Silvergrove.

“Hey, Runaan!” He turned to the voice coming from one of the many open shops to see a hand waving at him.

“Oh. Hey, Linnea.” He greeted her as she climbed down the ladder in front of her store, where she had been tending to her bluebell flower garden. She ran up to Runaan, a smile on her face.

“Are you excited?!” She chirped, her many braids shining in the sun as she bounced on her feet. “The Blue Moon Festival is  _ tomorrow! _ Can you believe it?!”

Runaan nodded. It had been the talk of the entire village. Blue moons, or the second full moon in a month, are extremely rare, only occurring every three years or so. It was honored as a moon of strength, unique beauty, and miracles. The ancient Moonshadow elves had given the Silvergrove its illusion magic on a blue moon. 

In other words, it was one of the biggest celebrations in the village.

“I can believe it.” He replied. “You seem a lot more excited about the festival than you were a few years ago.”

Linnea nodded vigorously. “I am! It’s the first Blue Moon festival I get to spend with Estel!” Ah, that was why. Last year, Linnea had gotten married to one of the bookkeepers, an elf named Estel. Runaan had seen her once or twice, organizing the spellbooks or making sure the bioluminescent flower lights within the library were healthy. He had made pleasant conversation with her now and again, even getting some tips on spellcasting (Runaan was no mage, but he knew a few handy spells).

“Ah, I can’t wait!” Linnea grinned widely. “I’ll get to take part in planting a twin heartbloom flower with her!” She wiggled excitedly, her cheeks pink with happiness. She gave Runaan a curious look.

“You’ll be at the festival, right?” She asked him. 

“Of course.” Runaan yawned, the heat making him feel a bit drowsy. “No one misses the Blue Moon festival.”

Linnea beamed at him. “Wonderful! I hope you’ll enjoy yourself this time.”

Runaan hummed. Last time, he had been bombarded with endless small talk from practically everyone in the village until he had gone home in frustrated exhaustion. It took weeks for Tiadrin and Lain to stop reprimanding him for it. 

“I hope so, too.” Linnea nodded as Runaan turned around. “I’ll see you at the festival, then.” He waved farewell to her as he resumed his journey to Ethari’s forge.

He climbed the now familiar path up the steps, avoiding the cracked stone that he had learned would break apart if stepped on. He still had scratches that were healing on his palms. Jogging up to the entrance when he reached the top, he knocked on the door. “Ethari? I’m here!” He called out.

“Come on in!” Runaan’s eyes widened at the reply. Ethari was _ never  _ at the door when he came by! Usually, either Selena answered the door for him, or he let himself in. Maybe it was because it was still early…?

A peal of laughter suddenly rose up from behind the door, making Runaan’s eyes widen even more. He knew that laugh. He had been subjected to its torture for who knows how many years. Runaan threw open the door, and when he saw who was on the other side, his train of thought slammed to a halt.

“Nice of you to join us, Runaan!” Tiadrin waved to him, sipping tea and sitting cross-legged on one of the stools in the main shop. Lain sat next to her, nodding in greeting, his mouth full of what Runaan guessed was muffin. On Tiadrin’s other side, looking like he was having the weirdest Saturday ever, was Ethari, who had a sword blade in one hand and a polishing cloth in the other, and was deftly wiping and scrubbing at the metal.

Runaan caught Ethari’s eye, who had looked up from his polishing with a smile. “Hi, Runaan!” He gestured to an empty stool. “Have a seat?”

“What are they doing here?!” Runaan gestured to his two friends.

“Rude!” Tiadrin chided Runaan, setting her teacup down with a clack. “That’s no way to speak to the Master Craftsman.”

“We met Ethari when we were visiting the Tidebound elf merchants yesterday.” Lain explained, swallowing his food. “We were looking at the sea glass sculptures, and we spotted him and said hi. We chatted, and he invited us over.”

Runaan raised an eyebrow at Ethari. He only shrugged. 

“They came up to me and asked ‘Hey, are you Ethari?’ They told me they were the friends you told me about. And, not to offend you, Runaan, but,” Ethari leaned closer to him, “you really should have been nicer with your descriptions of them.”

“I am  _ not _ loud and unruly!” Tiadrin frowned indignantly as Runaan took a seat on an empty stool, rolling his eyes. “You’re just too quiet!”

“I wonder why.” He deadpanned.

Tiadrin clenched her teeth angrily, then called Runaan several very unflattering names. Lain looked at her with exasperated fondness, like one looked at an unruly Shadowpaw kitten, while Ethari blushed at her foul language.

“Okay okay, I get it, now can you tone it down a bit?” Runaan frowned at her. “We are guests here. You shouldn’t talk like that in someone else's house.”

Tiadrin rolled her eyes, made a rude gesture at him, then sipped on her tea, looking obnoxiously refined. Runaan glared at her, folding his hands in his lap. Lain finished the last of his muffin, then cleared his throat.

“So,” He addressed Ethari, “you were talking about blade enchantments?”

Ethari nodded, straightening up and putting his polishing stuff away on his desk. “Yes, yes!” He collected himself. “As I was saying, the reason moonsteel is so sought after is that it can be easily enchanted with the power of the moon. It’s so magically potent, in fact, that each phase of the moon can be used for different purposes.”

Tiadrin’s eyes gleamed. “Oooo, that’s so cool! What kinds of enchantments?”

“There’s actually a poem for it.” Ethari mentioned. “All the swordsmith elves are taught it to help remember which moon phases do what.” He tapped his knee in a steady rhythm, humming as he began reciting the poem.

“ _ New moon phase cannot be gleaned, _

_ Enchant with black to be unseen, _

_ Crescent moon, no more than a sliver, _

_ Deadly edge, makes enemies shiver _

_ Half a moon, a friend in a fight, _

_ Makes your blade steadfast and light, _

_ Gibbous moon, in times of need, _

_ Will give your blade great strength and speed _

_ Full moon light gives the highest power, _

_ To prevail in the darkest hour _ .”

Runaan stared at Ethari in awe as his sing-songy poem drew to a close. Both Tiadrin and Lain clapped politely, making Ethari duck his head with a blush.

“It’s just an old rhyme, nothing more.” Ethari fiddled with his scarf, turning it over in his hands. “The magic of a new moon is used for stealth and invisibility. Crescent moons, and I mean the kind of crescent you can  _ barely _ see, gives blades a deadly, wickedly sharp edge. Half moons, since they are the halfway point in the moon cycle, represent a steadfast spirit, so they enchant weapons with integrity and make them extremely hard to break. Gibbous moons, especially the ones before a full moon, represent strength and determination. And full moons-”

“Are when the moon’s power is the highest.” Runaan finished. 

“Yes.” Ethari nodded. “Moonsteel, when enchanted with the light of a full moon, is strong, light, and the most powerful it can be.”

Tiadrin and Lain marveled at the explanation. “That’s so cool!” She set her teacup, now empty, on the workbench. “Imagine having all of those enchantments in one sword!”

Ethari laughed. “You’d be surprised! It takes half a month for all of the moon phases, and by then, the sword making process is so slow, it actually makes it nearly impossible to forge it well. Isn’t that something?”

Runaan frowned. “That’s disappointing.”

“Very.” Ethari agreed. “That’s why I only do two or three of the moon phase enchantments per weapon, depending on when forging begins.”

“Oooooh. That’s neat!” Tiadrin folded her hands in awe. “You can do all those enchantments?”

Ethari chuckled. “I mean, I can do loads of enchantments, but yeah.”

“So, you’re a mage?” Lain concluded. Runaan raised an eyebrow curiously at Ethari.

Ethari made a face, waving his hand in a ‘so-so’ gesture. “Kind of? Most moon magic deals with illusions and light. The magic I use isn’t really traditional moon magic.”

“Really?” Tiadrin pursed her lips. “How so?”

“Well, I use things other than moon magic to aid in sword enchantments.” Ethari explained. “For example, I have special stones that have deep earthen magic that I use as whetstones. They strengthen and sharpen the swords I make. Sometimes, I use certain ingredients, like moon lily petals or tufts of Selena’s fur, for enchantments. It’s all standard, and nothing special, really.”

“I’d say it’s plenty special.” The words slipped out of Runaan’s mouth before he could stop them.

Ethari stared at Runaan for a moment, then ducked his head, a pink blush dusting his cheeks. He was more or less used to Runaan’s occasional blurted complements. Tiadrin and Lain, however, were not. They gawked at him, open-mouthed. It took all of Runaan’s willpower to keep his face neutral. He stared at his knees, his lips pressed against each other, and he hoped and prayed that his hair hid his growing blush.

The atmosphere was so thick, it could be cut with a blunt sword. The four elves stared at each other, at a loss for words. Tiadrin set down her empty teacup, cleared her throat like she wanted to say something, but nothing came out of her mouth. Lain bit his lip. He was not one for awkwardness. Ethari merely glanced back and forth between the couple and Runaan, concerned and a little bewildered about the sudden change in the air.

A sudden meow made the elves nearly leap out of their skins. Ethari turned to glare as Selena jumped into his lap, laying down with her paws draped over his knees. She sniffed as the tension between the elves loosened up enough for their shoulders to slump in relief.

“So…” Yet again, Lain was the one to break the silence, “Ethari, have you read the new novel you bought from the Tidebound elves yet?” Runaan cringed inwardly at the very obvious subject change.

“Oh, yes!” Ethari replied loudly, clearing his throat as the awkwardness in the room finally began to dissipate. He stroked Selena’s fur lightly, the werecat purring as he scratched behind her ears. “ _ Phoenix Fires: The Heir of Eternal Flame _ ! It’s really good!”

“I know, right?!” Tiadrin gushed, returning to her usual level of rowdiness. “It ended so well! The author really knows how to go out with a bang!” She turned to Runaan excitedly. “Runaan, have you read the  _ Phoenix Fires _ trilogy yet?”

“No.” He answered. “It’s a romance series, isn’t it? I’m not into that stuff.” He was partial to mystery. Murder mystery, to be specific. He had reluctantly tried a few of the novels Tiadrin and Lain recommended to him, but they were all so sappy. More often than not, Runaan would get so bored and frustrated with the slow plotlines, he would throw the book across the room and yell “for the love of all Xadia, just talk to each other!”

“Oh, but  _ Phoenix Fires _ is such a great series!” Tiadrin continued, “And I’d think you’d like it, Runaan, the romance in it may be slow burn, pun fully intended, but the relationship between the main character and his best friend/love interest is so good!” 

Runaan raised a brow skeptically. “Oh yeah?”

“Oh, it’s genius!” Lain added. “Furea, the main character, and another character, Ash, became inseparable friends in the first book. In the second book, Furea notices he has weird feelings towards Ash, but they are temporarily pushed aside after a  _ massive _ betrayal from another one of their friends. And the third book is final-battle type-esque, along with Furea realizing that the strange feeling in his heart was his love for Ash!”

Runaan twitched. “ _ Strange feeling? _ ”

“Is it…” Runaan coughed, “is it really that great?”

“It’s fantastic!” Ethari grinned enthusiastically. Runaan’s heart hammered in his chest. “Furea had never fallen in love with  _ anyone _ before in his life, so he had no idea what his feelings meant! It was subtle, too, the way the author kept dropping hints about Furea’s attraction, like the way Ash was the first one who surprised him,”

Runaan swallowed.

“Furea trusted Ash in a way he had never trusted anyone else,”

Runaan clenched his teeth.

“And that, no matter how awful their journey got, they stuck together, all the way to the end!” Ethari sighed dreamily. “Their love is so inspiring to me. You should read it when you get the chance, Runaan!” Ethari’s smile slid off his face. “Runaan…?” Tiadrin and Lain followed his gaze, then promptly stiffened straighter than boards.

Runaan looked like he was trying to burn a hole to the center of the earth with his mind. His hands had the stool in a death grip, and his breathing was deep and fast. Tiadrin swallowed. Whenever Runaan got like this, it  _ never _ ended well. He was either very angry, very very angry, or off-the-map angry. 

“ _ Avizandum, help us _ .” She bit her lip as Runaan stood up, turning his head.

“We’re leaving.” He said curtly.

“Wait, what?” Lain stood up with the others, confused. And, honestly, a little frightened. “What do you mean?”

“I said we’re leaving.” He repeated, his voice sounding… strange. He opened the door to Ethari’s forge, and without another word of explanation, walked through.

“… Um,” Ethari stared after Runaan, confusion and… was that hurt in his eyes? “Did I… did I say something wrong?”

“Of course not!” Tiadrin assured him, following Runaan out the door. “He just… uh… well, you’ll be at the Blue Moon festival, right?”

“O-of course!” He replied, standing in the doorframe as the three elves made their way down the stone stairs. His heart sank a little when Runaan gave him one last glance, then quickly looked away. Sighing, he walked back into his home and let the door shut.

“Well, that went well.” He let his back thump against the door, sliding down to the floor. “I had a feeling that the four of us in a room together would spark something.”

Selena narrowed her eyes at him. Bullshit. To prove her point, she shifted into her elven form to glare more strongly at the sulking elf.

Ethari met her glare. “Okay, I didn’t know!” He threw his hands up in frustration. “I don’t know! I have no idea what to freaking do about this, alright?!” Selena raised one of her eyebrows. Ethari frowned at her. 

“Don’t give me that look. Would you have done any better?”

Selena stared at him. Sighing, Ethari rubbed his face.

“Yeah, you would have.”

* * *

“What was that?!” Tiadrin yelled as soon as Lain closed the door of Runaan’s house. “We were having a good time! Well, Lain and I were, but you- I can’t believe you would just walk out like that! What is wrong with you?!”

Lain up a hand on his girlfriend’s shoulder, silently telling her to take it down a notch. “She’s got a point, Runaan.” He added, disturbed by the events that had just transpired. “That was very unlike you to bolt out of someone’s house. What happened?”

Runaan leaned against his reading table on the far wall, his back to the other elves. He forced his racing mind to read the titles of the books he had stacked up,  _ Missing Blood _ , _ A Trail of Deception _ , and, in his own neat handwriting,  _ Spellcasting Notes _ . Slowly, the storm in his head calmed down enough for him to think coherent thoughts.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t much of an upgrade.

He had no idea what to think. The things Ethari had talked about, the way that book character had fallen in love without realizing it… could it be that this feeling, all this time, it was…

It couldn’t be true. It was just some strange coincidence. He wasn’t some character in some romance fantasy story. This wasn’t… he wasn’t… 

Thinking back, the memories playing back to him, he realized that it was true. He liked Ethari. The way he talked, the way he smiled, his laugh, his skill and passion for his work,  _ him _ . Runaan’s blush deepened as he finally put two and two together. He liked Ethari. He  _ like _ liked him.

Holy shit.

“Runaan,” Lain said to him in a calm, concerned voice, “what’s going on?” Runaan swallowed thickly. Oh, this was the worst possible time to suddenly become self-aware of his feelings. Good Avizandum, if he told them that he, of all people, had developed feelings for someone…  _ oh no _ .

Maybe he could talk his way out of it?

“Runaan.” Tiadrin stared at him, her eyes as piercing as arrows. “Explanation. Now.” 

Nope. He definitely couldn’t. When Tiadrin spoke like that, she would not rest until she got the answers she wanted. 

Runaan breathed in deeply, then back out. These were his friends, he reminded himself grudgingly. Despite how he acted around them, he genuinely cared about them. He knew deep down that they wouldn’t lose  _ too _ much of their minds… oh, who was he kidding, they’re going to freaking implode. Gripping the table, he steeled himself. It was going to hurt him more in the long run if he kept it secret. Exhaling slowly, he let the words out of his mouth.

“I think…” Oh, fuck it. Rip off the bandage and deal with the pain. “I think I like Ethari.”

Tiadrin and Lain’s mouths dropped open. Runaan didn’t need to see them to know that the looks they were giving him were nothing short of shell-shock. 

“You’re joking.” Tiadrin said. In truth, she didn’t believe what she heard. Was Runaan, stone cold, assassin Runaan, even capable of attraction? No. He wasn’t. There was no way.

Clenching his hands on the table, Runaan finally turned to face his friends. Mouth in an embarrassed grimace, and a deep blush on his cheeks, he glared at their shocked faces. 

“I’m not.” He looked away, covering his mouth with his hand. “I really… I really do like him.”

After exactly three heartbeats (Runaan could count it, his heart was beating so loud), it finally sunk in. Runaan, future assassin, ruthless and stern, I-Don’t-Fear-Death-Death-Fears-Me Runaan… had a crush on Ethari.

Tiadrin’s face split into a wide grin. “OOOOOOOOOOH MY XADIA!!” She clasped her hands in front of her face, delight spilling forth from her like an overflowing fountain. “RUNAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN!!!” She hopped up and down, practically bursting at the seams.

Lain looked as if he was transcending through time itself. “Wh-” The word turned incoherent when Tiadrin started violently shaking him in her excitement.

“IT’S FINALLY HAPPENED!!” She cried joyously. “I KNEW IT! I KNEW IT! I KNEW IT WAS ONLY A MATTER OF TIME BEFORE SOMEONE SWEPT RUNAAN OFF HIS FEET!!”

Runaan blushed loudly. “What the…?!”

“And it was a GUY, no less!”

“I- what’s that got anything to do with it?!”

“I mean, you have to admit it is really hard to picture you with a girl.” She pointed out. Runaan opened his mouth to protest, then shut it again. Arg, she was right.

After finally finishing his trip across the dimensions, Lain shook out his head. Runaan groaned inwardly as he, too, started grinning at him. “Whoa. That is…  _ awesome _ ! You really do like him, don’t you?” He laughed to himself, pulling a hand through his hair. “Now that I think about it, I’m surprised I didn’t figure it out sooner.”

Runaan made a face. “What do you mean!?” 

“Well, Lain kinda has a point,” Tiadrin mused, “the way you talk about him is really different from how you usually talk about people. And you never came to dinner yesterday, either!”

They had solid points. Still, it did nothing to help dissipate the prominent blush on Runaan’s cheeks. “ _ Note to self: get better at hiding feelings _ .” “Okay, so I’m not as good at hiding some things like I am at hiding other things,” he admitted, “and I have a crush on Ethari. Hooray. What are you two planning on doing with this information?”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Runaan wished he could shove them back in. Tiadrin’s face became the very definition of evil. He groaned, knowing full well that the gears in her mind were working overdrive.

“Well, there’s only one thing to do!” She announced, hands on her hips. “We need to get you to confess to him as soon as possible!”

_ CONFESS?! _

“Are you serious?!” Runaan exclaimed. Tiadrin nodded enthusiastically. 

“Dead serious! You can’t just  _ not _ tell him that you like him! That would be wrong! You need to tell him how you really feel about him!” Beside her, Lain’s eyes sparkled.

“I know!” He clapped his hands. “You could tell him tomorrow! At the Blue Moon festival!”

Runaan balked in his seat. “Are you insane?! First, you’re making me admit I like Ethari, then you tell me I have to  _ confess _ to him, and now you’re saying I have to do it  _ tomorrow _ ?! That’s way too soon!”

Tiadrin fixed him with a glare. “You’re the one who always goes on and on about how characters in romance stories could solve all their problems through communication! Well guess what, loverboy, now’s the time to prove it!”

“Lover- Tiadrin, I wasn’t even aware I liked him until literally half an hour ago!” Runaan’s heart was racing. The prospect of, no point in denying it anymore,  _ confessing _ to Ethari by tomorrow was… unthinkable. Suddenly, Runaan understood the people in romance books. This was  _ terrifying _ . “And you’re telling me I have to tell him?! When I’m almost absolutely certain he doesn’t feel the same way?!”

Tiadrin’s face fell. Oh. That was… In her excitement, she had completely overlooked the fact that she had no idea if Ethari felt the same towards Runaan. She looked at Lain, a conflicted expression covering her face.

In her own experience, she had known for sure that Lain liked her when she confessed to him. They had become close friends first, and with Tiadrin’s extensive knowledge of romance, the confession came easy to her. But for Runaan, who was downright _ horrible _ at expressing his emotions, and the fact that they had no idea if Ethari would return his feelings…

“Well… you never know until you try, right?” Tiadrin’s words died when Runaan scoffed, then turned in his chair and rested his elbow on his desk, a dejected expression on his face.

Lain placed a gentle hand on his girlfriend’s drooping shoulder. “Hey,” he said gently, “do you think we could get a moment? Just Runaan and I?”

Tiadrin looked at him uncertainly, searching his face, before nodding. “Sure, of course.” She waved to Runaan, stole a quick kiss from Lain, before walking away.

Lain looked at Runaan with a sigh. This must be a really confusing time for him. These unfamiliar feelings, the uncertainty of where they will lead, it was tough, especially for Runaan. From the beginning of his training, Runaan was taught to show no emotion. He was taught to bury his feelings deep below the surface. Lain pressed his lips together. He wasn’t sure that what he was about to say would outweigh years of Deimos’ teachings, but he had to try.

“I was in the same boat as you, you know,” Lain mentioned. He sat on the small sofa in Runaan’s living room. “I had the biggest crush on Tiadrin. She’s headstrong, clever, funny and sarcastic. I’m always so inspired by her, and I was certain that if I confessed to her, I would be laughed at.”

“If this is your way of making me feel better, it’s not working.” Runaan grumbled.

“I’m not finished,” Lain tilted his head around to meet Runaan’s eyes, “there is something that you have that I didn’t when I first fell in love: you already know him.”

Confusion crossed over Runaan’s face. He already knew him?

“You know a lot of things about Ethari that he doesn’t tell most people.” Lain was going out on a whim, but as he saw Runaan’s face flash with recognition, he knew that he was correct. “You’ve also spent a lot of time with him, getting to know him. When I developed feelings for Tiadrin, I was barely just an acquaintance to her.”

Runaan sighed. “You say I know him like I actually do.”

“Well, don’t you?”

“I mean, sort of, he’s told me some things, but don’t you have to know other things? Like his favorite color, or something?”

Lain snickered. “Now I realize why you steer clear of the romance novels Tiadrin reads. They’re nice, yes, but for you,” he sucked a breath through his teeth, “yeah, no. You need a different kind of romance.” 

Runaan raised a brow. Though he didn’t look it, he was genuinely listening to every word. “Oh? What kind of romance, then?”

“Furea’s kind.”

Runaan was quiet.

“Most popular romance story situations involve, as you describe it, ‘so much sappiness, it makes pine trees jealous’,” Lain continued, “and, as you probably have already guessed, that won’t work for you. And I know, you’re not one for showing emotions, but I think that might actually be key.”

Runaan tilted his head in confusion, feeling a bit uneasy. “How?”

“Think about it. When you complemented Ethari back in his forge, I could tell you really meant it. Tiadrin also noticed that while Ethari was a bit surprised by your compliment, he reacted as if it was normal. Meaning you do it a lot.” He smiled as Runaan looked away. He could almost hear his thoughts. “ _ Tiadrin and her freaking sharp eyes _ .”

“When you compliment him, you really mean it. You let your feelings out a little bit, and for you, that’s a high form of trust. And trust is one of the most important parts of a relationship. Ethari understands that. If you’re open and honest about your true feelings, then, Ethari will see you.” Lain put a hand on Runaan’s arm. “He’ll see the real you.”

Runaan was silent. The real him? He had spent so much time burying himself underneath his vision of himself, he wasn’t sure exactly who ‘the real Runaan’ was. Since before he could remember, he had worn his mask of pensive seriousness. He was a frozen lake, as smooth and as unmoving as a mirror.

But… perhaps, below the surface of the lake, there was life. Little fish that chased each other through the grasses. Big fish swimming leisurely in the deep water, hunting for their next meal. Turtles hiding in their shells, frogs nestled in the mosses, all hidden underneath the glassy surface of the lake.

Perhaps… he could melt the icy surface of the lake. He could let the fish jump out of the water. He could let the turtles bask in the sun. He could let the frogs hop round and round, filling the air with their croaking song.

If he let Ethari see what was really underneath the surface… maybe he would give Runaan a chance. 

“You really think… that it would work?” “ _ You really believe I can do this? _ ”

Lain smiled. “I believe that if you be yourself, no facades, no masks, and you show Ethari just how much you feel about him, you'll win his heart.”

_ Win his heart _ . Runaan liked the sound of that. In all the romance stories he had read, the characters wanted to ‘steal’ the hearts of the people they liked. As if it didn't belong to them. Now,  _ winning _ someone’s heart… that was much more profound. You were earning their love. As he thought more and more about it, his eyes grew determined. Lain watched in wonder as Runaan straightened up, took a deep breath, and met his eyes, resolve in his gaze.

“Alright.” He said. “I’ll give it a try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll get next week's chapter out earlier, I promise!


	5. The Blue Moon Festival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! Hope y'all are well!

The Blue Moon Festival had begun.

The heavenly full moon cast its white glow into the clearing, illuminating the delicate, almost invisible vines that were strung from the surrounding trees. From the vines hung climbing ivy, which was peppered with little blue lunablooms, each one glowing a mellow hue. Weaving slowly in and around the ivy were pale blue wisps, pulsing lightly with life.

Below, the Moonshadow elves were gathered in the clearing. It was quite a sight. Laughter filled the air as the musicians played upbeat, merry tunes, swaying as the elves danced to the melody. Multiple small campfires burned brightly, the young elves gathered around them, listening intently as the elders recounted story after story to them, from the tales of Luna Tenebris to the fallen Startouch elf.

Surrounding the open field were dozens of small tables, each holding an elegant assortment of food. Star plums, sanguicots, oranges, moonberries galore, all prepared in different and unique ways, from salads to slices to sauteed in spices that made their flavors explode.

It was a beautiful night. The perfect night for a confession of love.

“I’m not sure I’m ready for this.” Runaan hissed to Tiadrin, keeping close to her and Lain as they weaved in and around the chattering elves. “There’s too many people here.”

“Well, what did you expect?!” She replied, dancing almost effortlessly through the crowd. “This is the biggest celebration in the Silvergrove! Blue moons only happen once every three years! The whole village is here tonight to celebrate!”

“That’s exactly my point,” Runaan absently nodded his head to Elara, who waved at him from her spot by a campfire as he passed by. “Too many people.”

“It’s going to be alright, Runaan.” Lain assured him. He gave Runaan’s arm an encouraging thump. “Just be yourself. Do what comes naturally to you. Remember, you don’t have to do this right away. Take your time.”

“And make sure to enjoy yourself!” Tiadrin added. “Just because you’re about to seduce the guy of your dreams doesn’t mean you can’t have fun!”

“Seduce?!” Runaan spluttered. Tiadrin cackled madly, drawing several pairs of eyes. Lain cast Runaan an apologetic look, but he could tell he was trying not to laugh.

“ _ Just how would I do that, anyway _ ?!” he asked himself, “ _ I’ve never done this before! I’m an assassin, for Avizandum’s sake, not a love expert! Oh Xadia, I’m just going to end up making a gigantic fool of myself, right in front of _ -”

“Hey, Runaan! Tiadrin!” A familiar voice called out from the elves. Runaan, Tiadrin, and Lain all turned to see a figure rapidly weaving through the crowd. “Wait up!”

“Speak of the devil!” Tiadrin chirped, nodding sharply and nudging Runaan’s shoulder. He shot her a glare, just as Ethari emerged from the crowd.

“Hey, you guys! I was hoping I would find you here!” Runaan turned back around to face Ethari, then promptly lost his ability to breathe.

Oh.

Oh Xadia.

He was beautiful.

Instead of his usual working clothes, which were heavy, thick, and meant for blacksmithing, Ethari wore a thinner, sleeveless, midnight indigo tunic, which was delicately trimmed with purple patterns that matched his scarf, which hung loosely around his shoulders. Attached to his elbows were matching bracer sleeves, reminding Runaan of ancient Moonshadow robes. His boots had been replaced with a much daintier pair, blending in with his deep gray pants. 

He must have gotten his tattoos redone, because they practically shone in the moonlight, outlining his shoulders, his arms, and his face. A circlet of bright, swirling metal hung tightly around his neck, and similar bracelets hugged his wrists.

Instead of his usual hairstyle, the back of his snowy hair was tied in a high ponytail. His long bangs were swept to the sides of his face, fully revealing his warm brown eyes. He stopped in front of the trio, then gave them a dazzling smile.

Any preparation Runaan had made before the festival was thrown into the wind. In that moment, he finally understood the phrase ‘knockout gorgeous’.

“Wow, look at you!” Tiadrin clasped her hands together, grinning as Ethari ducked his head at her compliment. “I never knew swordsmiths could dress so well!”

Ethari laughed sheepishly. “Well, my Grandpa loved dressing up for occasions like this. My Dad used to always say that Grandpa was the only one of us who had any fashion sense. I guess a little bit rubbed off on me.” He glanced at Runaan, who had not said a word since he had arrived. “Um… Runaan? Are you alright?”

Runaan had to blink several times before the realization slammed into him that he was staring rather… indiscreetly at Ethari.

“Yes, yes, of course.” With an effort, he met Ethari’s eyes. Crap. There was so much he wanted to say, but he had no idea how to say it. Words swirled and jumbled around in his head, but he just couldn’t decide which ones were the right ones. He clenched the sides of his own tunic, desperate for any form of coherent speech, before his eyes finally settled on Ethari’s swirled metal necklace.

“Did you… um…” He managed to collect enough of himself together to ask, “did you make that?”

Ethari’s hand unconsciously reached up and touched the necklace with a small smile. “Yeah. I did.” He looked up to Runaan. “Is it… does it look good?”

“ _ It’s beautiful _ ,” Runaan wanted to say, “ _ it’s beautiful.  _ You’re  _ beautiful _ .” But all he did was nod stiffly, glancing away. He winced inwardly when he saw Ethari’s shoulders droop out of the corner of his eye. 

“Lain!” Tiadrin suddenly shouted, “Lain, look! The couples are planting their heartbloom flowers!” Gasping excitedly, she took hold of her boyfriend’s hand and led him through the elves. “We have to go watch!”

Runaan stared after them, a look of borderline panic on his face. He was lucky Ethari was behind him and couldn’t see it. 

Lain locked eyes with Runaan, then mouthed ‘ _ Be yourself. Show him _ .’ Tiadrin shot him a thumbs up, grinning. Soon, the dancing elves closed back in, and they were gone.

Leaving a very startled Runaan alone with Ethari. With no idea what to do.

Ethari gently tapped Runaan’s shoulder, causing him to whirl around.

“Ah,” Ethari pulled his hand back quickly, sensing Runaan’s discomfort. Ethari swore inwardly. “ _ Shoot. I should have guessed that Runaan gets uncomfortable in large crowds _ .” Nevertheless, he spoke lightly.

“Um… do you… um,” he fiddled with his scarf, gesturing with his shoulders to the musician’s stage. “Do you want to check out the music?”

Runaan stared at him for a moment. In his head, he wrestled out his options. Though music and dance was part of Moonshadow elf culture, and Runaan was fine with it, he was petrified at the thought of dancing in the front of the crowd, in full view of every elf at the festival. On the other hand… he had no better ideas.

“Sure.” He gathered himself, and set off to the musician’s stage with Ethari.

Though the air was filled with the sounds of chatter, laughter, and music, silence hung in between the two elves like a fog. Runaan’s chest felt tight, and not the good kind. It was the tightness that made his throat hurt. He avoided Ethari’s eyes, keeping his gaze forward on the musicians.

Ethari bit his lip. It didn’t seem like Runaan was enjoying the festival at all. He was uptight and skittish, throwing irritated glares at anyone who bumped into him. He sighed. He didn’t know what to do.

At first, when he had spotted Runaan from across the elves, his breath was taken away. Runaan had traded his assassin robes for a deep, forest green tunic, paired with a much darker open chest tunic he wore over it. He kept his black gloves, but his leather bracers had been exchanged for brown woven threads. There were several smaller braids woven within his usual hairstyle, adding a layer of complexity to his aura that made him look like an exquisite piece of art.

It was like Runaan had taken all of the things that made him look so cold and hard on the outside, and rubbed them until they were smooth, shiny, and warm. Just like Ethari does to the little stones he finds in the river.

But, he supposed, you can’t rub away your nature. Maybe, though, just maybe, he could begin to understand Runaan.

“The flowers are so beautiful tonight.” Ethari mentioned softly. Runaan followed his gaze to the glowing lunablooms that grew around the vines, suspended over the clearing, a web of light and magic.

As he gazed at the gentle blue flowers, the tightness in Runaan’s chest eased a little. The soft glow of the lunabloom cores was a calming comfort. Looking beyond them, to the night sky, the full moon and scattered stars, he felt his spirit rise. Tonight wasn’t just a night to celebrate the full moon. Tonight was  _ his _ .

“They are.” Runaan murmured. “It’s so rare that they’re able to put lunablooms around the vines. They’re delicate flowers, after all.”

Ethari blinked at Runaan’s words, surprised that he had spoken. “Y-yeah. The last time the lunablooms were able to be hung from the vines, I was too young to remember.” He looked back to the flowers, his eyes wistful. “I’ve never seen them like this before. It’s truly magical.”

“Do you… like lunablooms?” Runaan asked tentatively. 

Ethari turned his head to him. After a moment, he smiled, and for a split second, the light of the lunablooms turned his brown eyes the exact color of a navy night sky.

“They’re my favorite.”

Runaan smiled too, just a little. 

The music of the musicians surrounded the two as they stood amidst dozens of dancing elves. The musicians sang a traditional jig, the age-old song so catchy, even Runaan found himself swaying to the beat. Ethari shifted lively from foot to foot, his scarf billowing out as he twirled round and round, singing the tune along with the many other voices.

Runaan watched Ethari as he danced without a care in the world, laughing and singing melodiously as he clapped in time with the music. He was so… so perfect. No other word could describe Ethari. Even the word ‘perfect’ couldn’t do him justice. He had everything that Runaan thought, deep down, were the best qualities a person could possibly have. Confident, yet humble. Strong, yet gentle. Firm, but kind. Here he was, a maker of the most deadly weapons of Xadia, a trained warrior, capable of fighting even the most skilled swordsman, and he danced like he had moonlight flowing through his veins.

Ethari caught Runaan’s quiet gaze, and he smiled brightly. Runaan, even after years of suppressing his emotions, couldn’t help but to smile back. It felt as natural and as easy as breathing.

“ _ I can do it _ ,” he told himself, swaying and dancing with Ethari. He believed it, too. “ _ I’m going to tell him. He means so much to me. No matter what anyone else thinks. I know it _ .” The music ended. Runaan breathed deeply as Ethari faced him, panting, a grin on his face. “ _ Ethari… I _ -”

“For the next piece of music of the night,” one on the musicians loudly announced, cutting off Runaan’s thoughts, “we’ll need a couple of volunteers to set the pace!” The musician’s eyes flicked across the crowd, from couple to couple, before settling on Runaan and Ethari. “How about you two in the front?” She called out innocently, unaware that she had just flung Runaan into his worst nightmare.

Runaan’s eyes widened in horror as the elves around him moved away, like minnows in wake of a catfish. Beside him, Ethari gulped, clenching his scarf. Because the musicians were no longer playing, the excited chatter of the elves was unbearably loud. 

Runaan stood rooted in place, heart pounding in his ears. It seemed like every elf in the world had turned their eyes on him. Dancing in a crowd was one thing. Dancing with his crush in a crowd was another thing. Dancing  _ alone _ , with  _ his crush _ , in  _ full view of the entire village _ ?!

Runaan did his best to retain his neutral posture, but as each second went by, he became more and more anxious. There was nowhere he could look where dozens of eyes weren’t looking back. Watching. Waiting.  _ Judging _ . Years of training could NOT prepare Runaan for this. Not now, not ever. His breathing began to accelerate, his hands itching to draw a weapon as his mind screamed at him. What was he going to do?!

“Hey, HEY, WATCH OUT!” A voice suddenly called out, shortly accompanied by a loud bang. All of the elves abruptly turned their heads to see one of the food tables go flying, crashing through the crowd as the people scrambled to avoid it. Runaan stared as elves began to clamor and shout, walking away from the musician’s stage to where the table had fallen to make sure no-one was hurt.

A hand grasped Runaan’s, making him jump. “Come on, while they’re distracted!” Ethari hissed. His mind still in shambles, Runaan hurriedly followed Ethari through the crowd, avoiding the questioning looks from the other elves, and returned to the back of the meadow.

When the duo emerged into an open area, away from the eyes of the others, Runaan finally let out a breath of relief. “Oh, thank Xadia!” He pushed his braids out of his face, closing his eyes as he relaxed, letting the light of the moon flow through his pores, taking the stress with it. “That has to have been the most conveniently timed… whatever that was… ever!” He shuddered at the thought of what would have transpired. Complete and utter humiliation, that’s what.

“Yeah!” Ethari laughed, rubbing the back of his head. “I didn’t think that would work!”

Runaan stilled. “Wait a minute…” He whipped his head to Ethari, “ _ you _ did that?!”

Ethari sucked a breath through his teeth. “Ah… um… yes?” He shuffled his feet, embarrassed. “I, uh, I created an illusion that one of the whole sanguicots had exploded, and that it made the table go flying. It was easy, y’know, with the blue moon and all…” He cleared his throat as Runaan gaped at him, gobsmacked. “Um… you looked like you  _ really _ didn’t want to dance in front of everyone, so…” He bit his lip, starting to regret his actions. 

“ _ Crap, that was a  _ foolish  _ stunt you pulled, Ethari _ !” He cursed to himself. “ _ You  _ had _ the chance to impress Runaan and to have a good time with him, but instead, you had to go and toss it to the _ -”

“Pfft- HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

Ethari’s train of thought promptly derailed at the sound. He looked up sharply, his cheeks flushing, to see that Runaan was…  _ laughing _ .

Every pretty thing Ethari had ever seen, from lunablooms in full bloom, to the elegant glazed pottery the Sunfire elves sold, even the glory of the shining moon, all paled in comparison to Runaan’s laughter. Ethari had always known Runaan was not the laughing type, but… 

_ Whoa _ .

“You-! You actually-! You cast a high level illusion spell to-” Runaan covered his mouth, smothering his laughter that broke up is speech. As a blush flowered on Ethari’s cheeks, watching the other elf with wonder, Ethari discovered the next best part about Runaan’s beautiful laughter: it was  _ terribly _ contagious.

Ethari held his sides as he laughed with Runaan. His previous shame melted away, replaced with a much lighter feeling he couldn’t explain. As if he could grow wings as fly to the moon. He didn’t know it, but he was the first person to ever hear Runaan laugh so brightly.

“I’m sorry!” The words were punctuated with laughter. “That was just too funny! Of all the infinite possibilities of illusion magic,  _ that _ was the illusion you chose?! Exploding fruit?!”

“Oh, come on! It was the best I could come up with!” Ethari retorted, snickering, “what, would you rather I made a flock of crazed songbirds? Or the musician’s strings turn into snakes?” Runaan nearly fell on the ground laughing. Ethari grinned at him, his heart soaring.

Their time at the festival may have not started out great, but as their laughter died down, they both were feeling happier than they had ever been together. 

“I was wondering who had the honor of being blessed with Runaan’s laugh,” a deep, melodious voice made Runaan and Ethari turn, “I should have known it would be you, Master Craftsman.”

A woman stood before them. Tall, fair, and radiating calm authority. Her hair flowed freely down her shoulders in waves of silver. Her striking, almost white icy eyes were as sharp and as enchanting as silver swords. There was no elf in the Silvergrove, nay, the whole of Xadia itself, who wouldn’t recognize her. 

“Lady Luna,” Both Runaan and Ethari bowed deeply to the woman. Chuckling lightly, she motioned for them to rise.

“Please stand, my boys. Tonight is a most wondrous occasion, and we best not waste time on formalities.” Her smile was small, but her silver eyes twinkled.

Lady Luna, the head of the Silvergrove Council, was the ruler of the Moonshadow elves. She was highly respected by all of the Silvergrove, as both their leader and as a person. Calm, cool, and kind, she maintained the peace of the Silvergrove, ruling with kindness and justice.

“It’s a pleasure to see you tonight, my lady.” Runaan’s serious cool was back. Luna dipped her head in one fluid motion.

“Likewise, young Runaan. It is always such a gift to speak with those who hold the future of our home.” Luna cleared her throat. “Speaking of, I was talking with Elara just now, regarding the future warriors that shall be completing their training in a week’s time, when one of the sanguicots on the table near us inexplicably exploded. As I went to make sure no-one was hurt from the table, I was surprised to see that table was merely an illusion.” She turned to Ethari, who stiffened underneath her gaze. “I saw the two of you running through the crowd, away from the table, while the rest of the crowd moved towards it.”

One more thing about Luna: nothing ever escaped her notice.

Ethari immediately bowed. “My deepest apologies, my lady.” He apologized fervently. “It was my fault entirely. I did not intend to cause any harm to anyone, just… um…” As he searched for a way to explain his actions without embarrassing Runaan, Luna surprised him by laughing brightly.

“Don’t trouble yourself, Ethari! I had been watching the two of you long before the illusioned explosion. That was a rather unfortunate stroke of luck you had when the musician singled you out.” She cast a sympathetic glance to Runaan. “I wouldn’t be fond of dancing alone, either.”

Ethari reluctantly straightened up, clutching his scarf nervously. Runaan noticed he often did that when he was anxious. He filed that tidbit of information away in his mind. “ _ I need to learn more about him _ ,” He thought to himself. “ _ I need to  _ know _ him _ .” 

“To what do we owe the honor of your visit, my lady?” Runaan spoke. Luna smiled.

“Ah, still quite skilled in foresight, Runaan. Always knowing the motive for every action. Some things never change.” She tucked her hair behind her ear, sighing when it fell right back. “While it is always a pleasure to speak with the young elves I don’t normally speak with, and I don’t intend any offence when I say this, but the reason I wanted to talk to you two is if you perhaps know where Deimos is?”

At the sound of his name, Runaan’s mood fell, just a little. Ethari’s hands dropped back to his sides, his face going from anxious to neutral. Runaan, however, could see the contempt in his eyes. He hid it well, though.

“Apologies, my lady,” Ethari answered her, “we haven’t seen him. We were at the musician’s stage for a while, though. He’s probably somewhere away from the main festivities.” There was no pleasantness in his voice.

Luna frowned, putting a hand on her chin. If she had noticed Ethari’s change in mood, which she most certainly did, she didn’t address it. “Hm. That is quite strange. I’ve never known Deimos to be one who hides during a festival.” She tapped the side of her head thoughtfully. “Though, you are correct. Deimos is not one for the more, shall I say,  _ intensive _ festivities.” She gathered her long robes, nodding her head to the two. “Nonetheless, I wish you two an enjoyable rest of the festival. And, Ethari, no more exploding fruits, okay?” She winked.

“Yes, my lady.” He bowed, but Runaan saw the way he bit his lip to hide his laugh. Runaan shook his head, a smirk on his face.

Lady Luna smiled at the two one last time, before turning back to the festival, her navy robes billowing behind her like a rippling night sky, before she rejoined the crowd and disappeared.

“So,” Ethari said to Runaan after a moment of quiet, “what would you… like to do now?”

Runaan met Ethari’s gaze. He was quiet for a moment, just taking in the sight of him. Hair messy in the cute way it always was. Purple scarf around his neck, the circlet of metal beneath it just barely peeking out. Brown eyes that held more depth and color that he couldn’t see anywhere else.

“Well,” He finally spoke, “we have yet to eat tonight. How about we see if those sanguicots taste good as well as explode.”

Ethari frowned at Runaan, struggling not to smile. “You’re not going to let me forget this, are you?”

“Nope.” Runaan crossed his arms firmly. “You’ve made your bed, now you must lie in it.” Ethari snorted. Looking back to the festival, where the musicians had begun playing once more, he felt much more at ease. 

“Shall we?” Ethari inquired. Runaan gazed at him for a moment, before nodding, a small smile on his face.

“Yes.”

* * *

Despite the near disaster near the musician’s stage, the two elves got back into the swing of things. After they returned to the crowd, making their way to the food, they managed to meet back up with Tiadrin and Lain after they had finished watching the married couples plant their heartbloom flowers. Upon Runaan and Ethari explaining to them what the loud bang they heard was, Tiadrin collapsed on the ground, howling with laughter. Lain had stared at the two for a hot minute, assessing whether or not they were being serious, before he, too, had to smother his own laughter. Once the two of them got over their laughter, they went to grab a plate of the delicious festival food.

“Oh, there's so much to choose from!” Tiadrin gushed, flitting from platter to platter. “Flower-cut strawberries! Chocolate dipped oranges! Ooo, grilled plums! I have to try one!” She deftly loaded her plate up with a little bit of everything until it was practically a mountain. Lain stood close behind her, nervously watching her food as if it would fall any minute. His own plate was much more modest, boasting only a few assorted plain fruits, which he munched on.

Ethari grinned at his eccentric friend. “I have to hand it to you, Runaan,” He told him as he browsed through the fruit pastries, tapping his chin, “you made some really great friends, whether you think so or not.” Beside him, Runaan shrugged. They were alright, he guessed.

“Oh, you should try these sanguicot puffs, Runaan, they’re a bit on the sour side at first, but they taste super sweet.” After waiting for a response from the other elf, but not receiving one, he turned in confusion. “Runaan-”

“Mmmmm?” Runaan faced Ethari, one hand holding his plate, while the other held what Ethari recognized was a moonberry surprise to his mouth. Realizing Ethari was talking to him, Runaan quickly chewed through the treat and swallowed, wiping the juice from his face with the back of his hand.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that.” He held out his plate, which contained nothing but fresh moonberries and moonberry surprises. “Want one? They’re delicious.”

Ethari blinked at him. “ _ His eating face… _ ” Willing his cheeks not to redden, he accepted one of the surprises, thanking Runaan before biting into it.

“That's good!” He exclaimed as the sweet flavor washed over his tongue. “I’ve never had one like this before!”

“You can thank Linnea for that.” Runaan replied, licking the remnants of the treat off his fingers. “She makes the best moonberry surprises in the Silvergrove. No-one can best her baking skill.” Runaan gave the dessert a frown. “The one thing I wish I could do, but can’t, is bake these. I’ve never been able to figure out how.” He took another, rather large bite of another moonberry surprise. “Mmmmph, so good.”

“I could… um…” Ethari stared at the inside of the moonberry surprise, choosing his words carefully, “I mean, I’m not the best in the entire village but, if you want to, I could… show you how?”

Runaan paused in his chewing, tilting his head ever so slightly at Ethari’s offer. Swallowing, he smiled. “I’d like that.”

Lain watched Runaan’s smile with a smile of his own, pride blooming in his chest for his friend. Runaan looked more openly happy than he had ever seen him. As he bit into an orange, he couldn’t help but feel inwardly pleased that his advice to Runaan had helped nudge him in the right direction. “ _ Anyone can find love _ ,” He thought to himself pleasantly, “ _ you just need the right dowsing rod _ .” 

“If they don’t kiss by the time the festival is over, I’m going to eat my sword.” Tiadrin declared to Lain, peeking over his shoulder at the two, who were deep in discussion over how to make moonberry surprises. “Ooooooooooo, just look at them, Lain! They are positively head over heels for each other!”

Lain snickered. “It’s a good thing, too. He was so nervous on the way here, I thought he would bolt after we left.”

Tiadrin nodded sagely. “Yep. That was a dick move you pulled, making us ditch him to watch the couples.”

Lain gaped at her, flabbergasted. “Excuse me?! I recall it was  _ you _ who was so eager to see the heartbloom flower planting that you made us ditch him!” Lain poked her in the side, making her yelp and swat his hand away. That was Tiadrin’s biggest secret: she was  _ terribly _ ticklish. She pouted as he slung his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close to his chest.

“You know I hate it when you do that, right?” She told him, still pouting.

“That’s why it’s so fun to do it.” He replied teasingly, kissing the top of her head. Tiadrin smiled despite herself, wrapping her boyfriend in a loving hug.

“Elves of the Silvergrove,” A clear voice rang through the festivities, quieting the elves as Lady Luna, who stood atop the musicians’s stage, called for their attention. “The moon has risen to its peak. The height of this wondrous time is upon us.” A hush of awe fell across the elves as Luna strided to the edge of the stage, reached her hand to the vines of lunablooms, and brushed her fingers against one of the flowers.

In a rippling flow, each of the flowers dimmed at Luna’s touch. Following Luna’s magic, the wisps silently floated away, disappearing into the trees to return to their underground caverns. The only light that remained in the meadow was the shining light of the moon, a perfect eye in the face of the night, amongst thousands of starry freckles. 

“It is time,” She waved her hand to her subjects, a smile on her face, “for the ritual of the Dance of the Silver Moon.”

The Dance of the Silver Moon. The oldest, most important ritual in Xadian history. It had been a part of Moonshadow elf culture since the dawn of time. So important, in fact, that a part of it was used to release the illusion magic around the Silvergrove. A dance of grace, gentleness, and… love.

The dance was created by two Moonshadow elf lovers. Pursued by evil beings, the elves, wanting to protect one another, called upon the full moon with a dance, pleading for help. The magic of the moon responded, and cloaked them with an illusion, protecting them from their pursuers until they were safe. In thanks, the lovers promised to honor the dance which had saved their lives. The identities and history of the two lovers had been lost to time, but the legacy of their magic still remained. Every celebration that the Moonshadow elves held, be it the Blue Moon festival, or any other, the Dance of the Silver Moon was the final close.

And, as to honor the tradition of the Moonshadow elf lovers, each elf performed the ritual with a partner.

This was Runaan’s chance. 

Runaan glanced back to Tiadrin and Lain. The couple smiled at him. ‘ _ You got this _ !’ Tiadrin mouthed, flashing him an encouraging thumbs up. Lain met Runaan’s eyes, then nodded, his expression conveying more meaning than words ever could. 

“ _ Go get him _ .”

“Ethari…” Runaan’s breath caught a little when Ethari’s eyes met his, his eyebrows raised in question. This was it. This was do or die. 

“Would you…” Runaan took a deep breath, then held out his hand. “Would you like to dance with me?”

Ethari stilled, his brown eyes widening as he stared at Runaan’s outstretched hand. He looked back up to Runaan, pink flowering on his cheeks. His mouth moved, and he pointed to himself, almost in disbelief.

“Me?” He whispered. He gasped softly as Runaan nodded to him. Ethari took one more moment to stare at Runaan’s outstretched hand, before slowly, lifting his own and placing it within Runaan’s fingers, nodding.

There was no electric shock. No sudden feelings on the skin that joined with Ethari’s. Just the gentle warmth of his hand. Runaan could feel, even through his glove, that Ethari’s hands were calloused, but soft.

“I would love to dance with you.” Ethari smiled at Runaan as the first notes of the ancient song rung across the meadow. Runaan smiled softly, before letting Ethari take his position across from him, the elves around them doing the same for their partners. Raising their arms as one, the gently plucked notes of a harp their guide, the elves of the Silvergrove began to dance in the light of the moon.

The magic of Xadia was all around them tonight. It flowed from the trees, across the ground, and around the elves. At each note of music, the air seemed to shimmer. There were dark clouds gathering, a sign of rain sure to come, but by the power of the elves, the clouds swirled around the moon, but did not dare cover it. The eye of the storm and the eye of the night were one in the same. It held a power that no other sight could possibly hope to match.

The elves moved through the dance as easily as a river flowed through a forest. Though the dance was taught in the earliest stages of Moonshadow education, the fundamentals of the dance were ingrained deep within the elves’ bodies, in a way that no amount of teaching could replicate. The dance was part of their blood. Their heritage.

Runaan lifted and planted his feet with practiced ease. His arms flowed as he slowly spun in the patterns of the dance. He and Ethari slowly circled each other, moving in the gentle tempo of the music, every step, every motion, even every breath in sync with each other, and with every elf dancing around them. Raising one arm over his head, the other curved across his chest, his heart pounded as he twirled one last time before extending his hand to Ethari.

Ethari’s fingers first met his at the tips. Slowly, their hands connected downward, from their fingers to their palms, until they walked in a slow circle, hands connected. Their eyes met. Sky turquoise and earthen brown. He was so close, he could see the whispering motion of his hair as it blew in the wind. He could see the intricate textures of Ethari’s necklace, the loops and swirls hidden within the folds of metal. 

The music faded into the night. Runaan and Ethari ceased their motion, staring into each other’s eyes. Their hands hovered in the air, still connected long after the other elves had dropped theirs. Runaan gazed into Ethari’s eyes. Ethari gazed into his. Slowly, ever so slowly, their fingers moved downward, until they clasped each other’s hands. Runaan’s heart was beating so loudly, but he hardly noticed. The only feeling he had was the feel of Ethari’s hand in his. 

“Runaan…” Ethari breathed.

“Ethari,” Runaan found his voice. “Ethari… I…” He breathed deeply through his nose, steadying his resolve. He closed his eyes for a heartbeat, before opening them once more to look at Ethari’s face. He inhaled one last time, before opening his mouth, ready to tell him. Tell him how much he means to him. Tell him that he…

He…

Wait.

What was that?

Runaan’s eyes left Ethari’s, his mouth closing as he squinted past him. What he saw made his heart go cold.

Clouds. Not the natural ones, which finally began to cover the moon in a blanket of gray, but dark, black clouds that rose into the sky rather than flow across it. Smoke. Ethari followed Runaan’s wide-eyed gaze, shock flashing across his face when he, too, spotted the billowing clouds of smoke.

“What the…”

“It’s coming from the edge of the village.” Runaan deduced, eyeing the lowest point of the smoke he could see. The words of confession that had almost left his tongue were dead. The only things that occupied his mind were his years of training. “That’s not good. It could be one of the houses.” He grabbed Ethari’s arm, pulling him away from the festival, which had gone almost completely silent as the others pointed at the smoke, nervousness rising in the calm meadow air. “We have to find the source.”

Ethari, whose mind had started racing, frantically shook his head, trying to clear it of his thoughts of foreboding. Instead, he focused on the bounce of Runaan’s braids as he ran, the pumping of his free arm, and the grip of his hand on his.

“ _ It’s going to be alright _ .” He told himself as the two of them ran back into town.

“ _ It’s going to be alright _ .” He told himself as they raced through the town, passing the houses, the shops, the gazebos, and the shadowed figure that moved out of the corner of his eye.

“ _ It’s going to be alright _ …” Following the clouds, they came to a stop.

“ _ It’s going to be… no… no, no, NO _ !”

Runaan’s eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat with a harsh choking sound. “ _ It can’t be _ -”

The source of the smoke sat atop the cliff that Runaan had spent many days upon. The sight that screamed at him was the worst he would ever see. He could never forget it, even if he tried. Beside him, Ethari shrieked in horror as they finally identified where the clouds of black were coming from.

It was Ethari’s forge. Alit in a swirling inferno of fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CLIFFHANGER! You know I had to do it to 'em!


	6. Disaster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am back, and I bring ANGST. Enjoy!

The fire was huge. Its hungry flares licked at the back end of Ethari’s forge, consuming it in wild orange and red light. Loud crumpling and splintering sounds could be heard as the wood that held up the forge collapsed, throwing up smoke, ash, and cinders, which rained down the side of the cliff in torrents of black and gray.

Runaan stood rooted in place. His constant control over his expressions was gone. His face held nothing but shock. Ethari let out a strangled cry, clawing at the skin below his eyes. His brown irises turned amber with the cruel light of the fire.

A thought suddenly slammed into Runaan’s head with the force of a war hammer. “Ethari!” He grabbed Ethari’s shoulders, panic in his eyes. “Where’s Selena?! Did she come with you to the festival?!”

Ethari’s eyes flashed with realization, answering Runaan’s questions. Ethari whipped himself toward his burning home and ran to it at breakneck speed, climbing up the stone steps like an elf possessed. Runaan followed hot on his heels, shielding his eyes from the heat as they came to the door.

Without hesitation, Ethari flung the door open, using his hands to hold his scarf over his mouth as the toxic heat blasted out through the doorway. It was a miracle the fire hadn’t found its way to the main room of Ethari’s home, otherwise the two would have been engulfed in flames the moment they stepped inside.

“Selena!” Ethari shouted, running through the room, spinning wildly as he searched desperately for the werecat. “Selena! Oh sh- Selena, where are you?!”

Runaan coughed, holding his hand over his mouth, the smoke making his eyes water and sting. His gaze flicked across the room, trying to find the streak of white that he had come to know as Selena, before catching on the entrance to the rest of Ethari’s home. Pulling his tunic over his face, he ran to the hallway squinting against the light of the inferno. There. Laying motionless on the floor, trapped beneath a smoldering plank of wood, was a small elven form.

“I see her!” Runaan shouted to Ethari. Suddenly, the ceiling of the forge groaned loudly, several sections falling to the floor and breaking apart. “She’s in trouble! Hurry!” 

Ethari, wasting no time at all, quickly followed Runaan through the hall, avoiding the burning planks and dodging the flames that swiped at their skin. Runaan’s heart raced as he struggled against the instinct to bolt. He forced his breathing to remain deep and even, keeping low to the ground, and led Ethari to the plank where Selena was trapped. 

As they reached the fallen werecat, Runaan immediately felt for the pulse in her neck. It took an agonizing moment to find it, but when he finally felt the beats of her heart, he was relieved that it was still steady and strong. He raised his eyes to the board that had trapped her, assessing his next move.

“We need to move this plank and get her out of here!” Runaan shouted to Ethari over the roaring flames. Beside him, Ethari cried “okay!”, and to Runaan’s horror, grabbed the burning hot plank. For a split second, Runaan expected Ethari to pull his hands back with a cry of pain, but he realized that Ethari’s hands were covered with his thick, enchanted forging gloves.

“I’m going to lift the plank,” He told Runaan, shifting his feet in preparation. “You need to grab Selena, then run as fast as you can out of here! I’ll be right behind you!”

“Are you sure?!” Runaan’s mind raced with all the things that could go wrong. Another burning board falling on top of him, crushing him before he could escape. The fire suddenly lashing out at him, searing his face and setting him alight. Runaan didn’t want to leave Ethari behind while he escaped.

Ethari locked his gaze with Runaan’s. At that moment, time stopped.

His eyes, in the light of the fire, were no longer brown. Instead, they were a color Runaan couldn’t even hope to explain. As if amber had somehow encased a burning inferno eternally within its crystallized folds. Blazing fires, trapped within his eyes. In that moment, Runaan saw his resolve. His hope. Him.

“Yes.” Steeling himself underneath the plank, he grasped it with his gloved hands. “Ready?!”

“Yes!” Runaan tensed as Ethari inhaled sharply. “GO!”

In one motion, Ethari heaved the plank upward. He bared his teeth with the effort, needing all of his strength to keep the wood from falling right back down. Runaan, as fast as a striking snake, wound his arms around Selena’s limp body. He held her as one might hold a baby, her head tucked in the crook of his elbow, her legs dangling across his other arm. She coughed weakly, her eyes fluttering before she succumbed to unconsciousness. Runaan stood up, his feet moving with purpose as he finally let his flight instinct take over.

“ETHARI! RUN!” He screamed over his shoulder as he ran back the way he had come. Dimly, he heard a loud smash as Ethari dropped the plank back onto the ground and chased after Runaan.

The two elves burst through the door, heaving deep gulps of fresh air. As they skidded to a stop, falling to their knees, lightning boomed above them as the gathering storm finally broke. Runaan, his nerves frayed beyond belief, shrieked in surprise as the whip crack of thunder shook him to his soul. Ethari, throwing off his gloves, which steamed with the heat that had tested its fire resistant magic, clutched Runaan’s arm, his hands trembling with fear and fatigue.

The rain began to fall. As if the universe had taken pity on Ethari, the rain poured in thick torrents of swollen droplets. It was not even a second before the two of them were soaked, the rain cleansing them of the ash and dirt on their skin.

Even if they noticed, they wouldn’t have cared. Runaan and Ethari panted as they watched the rain slowly but surely suffocated the fire. As the water fell onto the already abused framework of the forge, the few supports that were still standing collapsed from the weight. As each one fell, Ethari winced as if he had been stabbed. The inferno was reduced to a blaze, then to a fire, then to a spluttering flicker, giving one last flash of orange, before going out with a hiss. All that remained was the steaming smoke that still tried to rise within the rain, and the blackened remains of Ethari’s beloved forge.

Runaan shook his head. His entire body shook as the adrenaline in his system wore off, making his shoulders sag and his knees weak. In the distance, Runaan was dimly aware of the shouts and cries of the other elves as they beheld the tragic sight of Ethari’s forge. In his hold, Selena coughed harshly, taking in the rain-damp air in deep, wheezing breaths.

“M… my…” Ethari’s bottom lip trembled. “M-my…” His breath hitched, strangling his words. As Runaan finally tore his eyes away from the ruined forge and saw Ethari’s face in the light of the rising sun, he almost cried out loud. The expression on Ethari’s face was… incomprehensible pain. No word in any tongue could describe the emotions he felt. 

“My home…” At the whisper, Ethari choked out a sob, and Runaan’s heart shattered like glass.

Without thinking, Runaan grabbed Ethari’s shoulders and embraced him. Ethari bit his lip so hard, he tasted the coppery tang of blood as he hugged Runaan back, holding onto him like a lifeline. Runaan stared into the void, breathing in shallow gasps. Gone was the fluttering feeling in his chest. Instead was the weight of what felt like a mountain on his heart, wrapping it in the claws of despair.

Their first embrace should have been one of happiness. Instead, it was one of sorrow.

* * *

The forge was in ruins. The fire had started in the back of the forge, and had quickly become out of control. It destroyed the main forging room, the drawing room, the storage room (many of the metals were undamaged, but the woods and other materials were not so lucky), and much of his refinement room, mercilessly burning them to cinders. The only parts of Ethari’s home that survived were his main communal room, his bedroom, and parts of his living areas. 

Selena, who had been sleeping when the fire had started, was trapped underneath a burning plank when she had tried to escape. Fortunately, thanks to Runaan and Ethari, she suffered only minor burns. In a stroke of irony, the burning plank that had trapped her also saved her life. By holding her to the floor, she had minimal smoke inhalation. The healers were keeping watch over her as she recovered.

That was the only good news. Now, all that remained of Ethari’s beloved forge was a charred, blackened shell.

Runaan stared across the ruins of Ethari’s home, numb shock being the only emotion he felt. The wind whipped up the ash that hadn’t been touched by the rain, the thin clouds of gray only filling the scene with despair. One of the posts that had once held up the forge suddenly crumbled to the ground, making Runaan jump to avoid it. His heart sank even further as he watched it split apart, yet even more irreversible damage to Ethari’s home. 

Bending low to the ground, Runaan sifted through the ashy rubble, pulling out what used to be one of Ethari’s detailed blueprints. The paper was mostly burned away, only one edge remaining. The wind picked up again, and Runaan watched in numb dismay as the blackened paper crumbled to dust in his hands.

All the while, his mind kept repeating one thought in his head. “ _ How…? How could this have happened? How? How? _ ”

“… _ why _ ?”

Runaan shook his head, shutting his eyes against the site of destruction. Clambering on the charred planks of wood, he slowly made his way over to Ethari. The elf in question was on his knees, his head bowed, looking at something hidden from Runaan’s view.

Biting his lip, he laid a gentle hand onto Ethari’s shoulder. The elf didn’t even flinch at the sudden contact. He just continued to stare silently downward at his hands. It took ages just for Runaan to swallow the lump in his throat before he could speak to Ethari.

“Ethari…” He knelt down next to him, trying to meet his eyes. Ethari didn’t respond. Runaan followed his gaze to his hands, and felt his heart give a painful throb.

Ethari was holding a broken portrait frame. The glass in front of it had shattered from the heat, and much of the picture was charred black. Runaan’s heart plummeted when he finally made out the people in the portrait. There was an elderly couple, sitting behind a much younger couple, who were holding a small Ethari between them. His parents. His grandparents, too. All of them were smiling so happily… the only happiness in the midst of a horrible tragedy. 

“This was the only portrait I ever had of us.” Ethari whispered. He traced his thumb across the web cracks in the glass that covered his mother’s face. Runaan realized that she had Ethari’s smooth, sloping nose, and warm brown eyes. Heart sinking further every second, Runaan shifted his gaze to the elf he knew was Ethari’s father. Same sharp jawline. Same messy hair, only his was much longer, and it was tucked back behind his ears. Same bright, happy grin, one that made his eyes look like they were laughing.

“This forge-  _ my _ forge, was…” he paused, lowering his head even more, “my last memory of them.” His shoulders shook. “It’s gone, now. It’s just… gone.”

Runaan blinked away the forming tears in his eyes. He couldn’t cry, not now. Swallowing thickly, he opened his mouth to try to soothe Ethari, but another voice made him stop and turn.

“Oh Xadia…” Lady Luna covered her mouth as she took in the devastation. Her long robes dragged in the ash, becoming blackened at the edges, but she paid no attention. “What on earth  _ happened _ ?” 

“The forge caught fire.” Runaan stated immediately, standing up straight. He quickly gathered himself best he could. Now was not the time for sorting through the mess of his emotions. 

Luna’s eyebrows knit together, her silver eyes flashing with disbelief. She looked down to Ethari, her expression turning into one of sympathy and compassion. The elves behind her stood at the edge of the rubble, talking in hushed whispers and staring in dismay at the carnage before them.

“How did this happen?” Luna asked him.

“I don’t know.” He bit his lip. “We were both at the festival when I noticed the smoke.” He looked back to Ethari, who hadn’t moved from his spot on the ground. “By the time we arrived, the fire was completely out of control.” 

Luna nodded. “I see.” She glanced at the part of Ethari’s home that still stood. “It is fortunate that the storm broke when it did. It appears some of your home has been spared, Ethari.” At the sound of his name, Ethari tilted his head slightly. Luna looked sadly at the remnants of the forge. “I… I have no words, Ethari. This the worst kind of tragedy that can ever be inflicted onto one such as yourself.” She sighed deeply, her lips pressing into a thin line. “To lose the forge… and all that was within it…”

“Not everything.”

Both Runaan and Luna fell silent as Ethari finally stood. As he turned and faced the two, Runaan’s chest tightened at the expression on his face.

Empty was the only word that could describe it. Devoid of all emotion, even neutrality. His shining brown eyes were now as dull and as hollow as two spheres of dried wood. His voice, he realized with a pang, sounded unfeeling and cold. Much like Runaan’s voice did. 

“Not all of my work was destroyed. I still have much of my nearly completed orders stored in my main room.” Ethari continued. “I can still finish those, granted if they didn’t need any touch-ups that required the supplies that were destroyed.”

Luna watched Ethari, a deep sadness in her eyes. She too could sense that Ethari’s spark was gone. He held a tone of business, but he had none of his passion. As if he was speaking from the past, and not from the present. 

“ _ Denial _ .” She thought to herself. The first stage of grief. He was surrounding himself with only thoughts of his work. Holding on to the few pieces of his life that still remained. Numbing himself to the pain. It was not the first time she had seen him like this. She knew exactly where it would lead.

However, she knew that she couldn’t interfere. Grief and loss were hard bridges to cross, but she knew it would be harder for Ethari to once again cross them if she tried to force him to. She could only encourage him as he tried to look forward.

“That is good.” She folded her hands, the sadness in her eyes replaced with the same formal aire she always held. She may be like any other elf, but she was the leader of the Silvergrove. She had to steer her subjects back on the right path. “With some of your work still intact, you can finish those orders while we begin the process of healing from this disaster.”

Ethari dipped his head. “Yes, my lady.” He looked at the ground beneath his feet, assessing the wreckage of his forge. “The first thing that must be done is clearing out the damage. Once all of it has been cleared, the ground can be assessed and healed. Then, rebuilding can begin.”

Luna nodded. “Right. Then we have our heading.” She turned back to the elves who were gathered at the edge of Ethari’s forge. Standing tall, radiating authority, she snapped her fingers. Immediately, the elves fell silent. If she so desired, Lady Luna’s presence commanded attention. She cleared her throat and raised her hands to her people.

“Elves of the Silvergrove,” She began, her voice ringing out like a bell, “a great tragedy had befallen us today. The forge of our Master Craftsman has caught fire, and much of it has been destroyed.”

Runaan glanced at Ethari. His jaw was visibly clenched, and his hands were balled up in fists by his sides.

“This forge has stood tall for decades,” Luna continued, “as long as I can remember. It was built and run by the Silvergrove’s first great weapon masters, Chila and Jormun.”

At the names, Ethari flinched as if he had been struck. “ _ His grandparents’ names _ ,” Runaan realized, his heart twisting. “ _ Oh, Ethari _ .”

“As you know, after the deaths of the weapon masters, the forge was passed down to their grandson.” Eyes momentarily shifted to Ethari, before returning to Luna. “For years, he has faithfully served in his duties as our Master Craftsman. He has forged weapons that could rival the weapons of the Sunfire elves. He puts genuine thought and effort into every one of his works, and he does it all to the highest of his ability.”

Luna raised her hands to the elves. “My people, I believe it is time we pay him back.”

The Moonshadow elves were quiet. Then, one by one, they began clamoring in agreement. Moving forward towards Luna, they began calling out to her. 

“Of course!” 

“Our Master Craftsman has done so much for us, we need to return the favor!”

“We’ll help!”

“What can we do, my lady?”

Runaan blinked as the elves began talking amongst themselves, already laying out the groundwork for the repair of the forge. Elves who he knew were woodmasons, stonemasons, and builders were deep in discussion as Lady Luna began to explain how the elves could begin repairs.

“The first thing that needs to be done,” Luna instructed, “is that the burned debris needs to be removed. Once we clear out the wreckage, we can begin to assess the ground and confirm whether or not it is in good enough condition to begin construction.”

After the elves received their orders, they began to disperse across the ruins of the forge, lifting up the burned wood planks and carrying them away. Ethari stared at them, at a loss for words. Runaan nudged his arm gently.

“Hey,” He whispered, “are you alright?”

Ethari bit his already raw lip again, nodding stiffly. “Yeah…” He cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’ll… I’ll be okay.” Runaan’s face fell as Ethari shook his head, meeting Runaan’s eyes with a pained smile. It physically hurt Runaan to see such an expression on Ethari’s face. “Let’s… let’s just get started.”

Ethari began to trudge through the rubble, making his way towards where the other elves were clearing a section of the debris away. Reluctantly, Runaan followed after him, uncertainty on his face. “ _ Is it really the best thing for Ethari to be here _ ?” He asked himself. It did not go unnoticed to him when Ethari winced every time one of the others threw down another plank of burned wood onto the pile. Runaan wanted to say something about it, but he couldn’t find a way how.

Luckily, he wasn’t the only one who had concerns for Ethari.

“Wait one moment, Ethari.” Luna addressed him, both elves pausing as she approached.

“Yes, my lady?” He said.

“While we are beginning cleanup as we speak,” She folded her hands authoritatively, “I do not wish for you to participate.”

Ethari paused. Both him and Runaan faced Luna with surprised expressions. “With all due respect, my lady, why not?” He asked her, confusion on his face. “This is my forge. I need to be the one to oversee it.”

“You are correct, Ethari. However,” She laid a gentle hand on Ethari’s shoulder. Ethari blinked up at her eyes, full of kindness and understanding. A mother’s eyes. “You have been through enough for today. I fear that forcing yourself to stay here, where a part of your life has been erased, will cause more harm to your well-being.”

Ethari pressed his lips into a thin line. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. Memories he had tried so hard to bury were resurfacing in his mind. Memories of years ago. The sound of his grandfather pounding a new sword into shape. The feel of his grandmother’s polish-stained hands as she showed him how to properly clean a blade. The smell of his father’s cooking as he hummed cheerfully in the kitchen. The love in his mother’s eyes as she held him in her battle-scarred arms.

Ethari, after breathing sharply through his teeth, bowed his head to Luna. “I appreciate your concern for me, my lady,” Runaan closed his eyes at the words. He could tell how much Ethari was fighting to keep his voice from shaking. “I will adhere to your wishes.”

Luna smiled softly. “Thank you, Ethari. I know how much pain this is causing you. The best thing for you right now is to rest. You have been through so much in the past hours, and you need time to sort through yourself.” Ethari nodded in agreement. Now that his attention was drawn to it, his limbs were heavy with exhaustion. He rubbed his eyes, no doubt in his mind that they had dark circles underneath them. Beside him, Runaan exhaled in relief. He was so glad that Luna had stepped in where he could not. 

“Where should I stay in the meantime, my lady?” He asked her. “I don’t think remaining in my- well, what’s left of my house is a good idea.”

Luna dipped her head. “You are most certainly correct.” She put a hand to her chin in thought. “I know not of a place you could stay in off the top of my head. I would suggest the healer’s tree, but I don’t think that is the best option.”

Runaan cleared his throat. Ethari jumped, as if he had forgotten that the elf was there. Luna dropped her hand as Runaan stepped forward slightly.

“If I may suggest,” He bowed to Luna, “Ethari could… stay at my house for the time being.”

Ethari faced Runaan, his eyes wide with shock. Luna raised her brow. “Oh? You’ll be alright with that?”

“Of course!” Runaan replied. “I have more than enough room. I live near the western portion of the Silvergrove.” He gestured in the direction of his house to emphasize his point.

Luna hummed. “I see. In that case, I see no reason why not. You two are close, no?” Blushing slightly, Runaan dipped his head in agreement. Luna smiled. 

“Wonderful. It is always a good idea to be around those you care about after a tragedy.” Nodding in approval, she turned to Ethari. “Ethari? Are you okay with spending a few days at Runaan’s?” 

Ethari looked back and forth between Runaan and Luna, his eyes wide and uncertain. He shuffled nervously, cleared his throat, and looked at the ground beneath his feet.

“You’d really…” He whispered to Runaan, looking up to him, “you’d really be okay with letting me stay?”

Runaan sighed. He was tired. It had been a long day, and his frayed nerves were not helping his cause. But, he knew that whatever he felt, Ethari was feeling it a hundred times worse. Even then… Ethari was still Ethari. 

“Of course,” Runaan laid a hand on his shoulder, a comforting look in his turquoise eyes that made Ethari’s heart thump. “You’re more than welcome to stay in my home.”

* * *

“Uh… welcome,” Runaan shut his door behind Ethari, gesturing vaguely to his home, “to my… uh… my house.”

Ethari, arms full of the clothing and other daily essential items he had brought from his home, looked around at Runaan’s house. The way the interior was set up was fitting of Runaan: orderly, neat, and, in a way, quiet. The simple wooden walls matched the simple wooden floors, where an occasional woolen rug lay underneath the furniture, which consisted of a couch, a desk, and a reading chair. Standing on the far wall as an oaken bookshelf, next to that was the hall that extended to his kitchen, his guest room, his bathroom, and to the stairs that lead up to his main room, bathroom, and his study.

“I’ll, uh,” Runaan cleared his throat awkwardly, “I’ll show you around.” Trying his absolute hardest to ignore the awkwardness between them, Runaan slowly led Ethari through his house, explaining the layout and what was in which room.

“On the right in the hall is the kitchen,” Runaan pointed into the room. Ethari gave it a quick glance to see a rather small kitchen space, boasting only a few cabinets, short, polished wood counters, and a small table, which held three chairs.

“There are three chairs because of how often Tiadrin and Lain crash here,” Runaan explained, noticing Ethari’s questioning look. Exhaling an almost inaudible ‘oh’, he continued to follow Runaan silently.

“Up here on the left is the guest room and the bathroom that goes with it.” Runaan opened the circular-shaped door, gesturing for Ethari to go on in. “This is where you’ll be staying for now.” As Ethari entered the room, Runaan’s heart thudded in his chest.

It wasn’t as if Runaan was embarrassed about this room. It was small, yes, but in a cozy sense. As they walked in, Runaan found his eyes being drawn to every little detail. The bed on the left of the doorway was perfectly made, not a wrinkle on the blankets, but that was only because the bed was hardly ever slept in. From the afternoon sunlight that was filtering through the fairly large window, Runaan could see dust floating in the air. He inwardly winced. He hoped Ethari wouldn’t mind.

After standing in the room for a moment, taking it all in, Ethari carefully laid his things on the bed and sat on it. It dipped a little under his weight, but didn’t protest. Runaan was immensely relieved. If that old piece of wood had broken then and there, he would have lost it.

“ _ Hm _ ,” Ethari thought absently as he shuffled a little on the bed. “ _ Not as firm as I’m used to _ .” Nothing he couldn’t handle, though. In fact, a little more cushion might do him some good. His body was tired, but his mind sure wasn’t. If he could get comfortable, maybe his exhaustion would force his mind to shut down. 

Ethari almost snorted at the thought. “ _ Fat chance _ .”

Still standing in the doorway, Runaan cleared his throat. Ethari glanced up at him tiredly.

“Is this… um,” Runaan scratched his neck, “is this arrangement okay?”

Ethari blinked as the question registered in his mind. “Yes, yes, of course,” He replied. “It’s really nice here.” He looked out the window, the view overlooking the forest. The familiar greens of the lush trees were a comforting sight. “You have a lovely home.”

Runaan, despite the day’s events, smiled with pride. “Thank you.” His home used to belong to his parents, but after they passed away, it was neglected, as Runaan moved from home to home in the Silvergrove and didn’t return to his house until much later. By then, it was in serious disrepair. The tree it was built into had grown wild, and much of the furniture was too insect-ridden to keep. However, through patience, organizing, and slow repair, Runaan restored it to its former stead. Even now, about four years later, it filled him with pride whenever someone complimented his home.

However, the fact that the complement had come from Ethari carried a whole new weight. It touched Runaan’s heart that despite how much Ethari had just gone through, he still amended Runaan’s home.

Runaan stood awkwardly for one moment longer, unsure of what to do with himself, before backing out of the room.

“I’ll leave you to get settled,” He began to close the door, “feel free to store your things in the closet and in the drawer. I’ll be in the kitchen, making dinner.” He suddenly chuckled to himself, making Ethari’s head perk up a little. “I’m not much of a cook, though. Not as much as you are.”

Ethari almost laughed. “It’s okay, Runaan.” Sighing, he pushed off his boots and swung his legs onto the bed, laying down on his back. “I don’t think I’ll be in the mood for eating anything tonight, anyway.”

Runaan’s face fell. Not because of Ethari’s unenthusiasm about his cooking skills, mind you, but because of how his heart sank when Ethari said he wasn’t going to be eating. Runaan didn’t know much about the grieving process, but he knew from the other elves’ stories that after Runaan’s mother died, Runaan’s father, shortly before taking his suicide mission, had not been eating at all. He was ‘thinner than the patience of a Moonstrider’, as they put it, and the thought of that happening to Ethari terrified Runaan.

“Well,” Runaan bit his lip as he struggled to voice his concern, “I’ll… I mean, you should…” He clenched the door, inhaling deeply. “I’ll… set out some fresh fruit before I retire. If you feel like eating later, you are more than welcome to help yourself.”

Ethari smiled softly. It didn’t go unnoticed to him how Runaan emphasized ‘more than welcome’. “ _ He’s worried about me _ .” He mused sadly. “ _ Maybe… maybe I’ll get some food later… when I feel like I can stomach it _ .” 

“Okay. I’ll keep that in mind.” Ethari said. Runaan nodded curtly, closing the door. “And, Runaan?”

Runaan paused. “Yeah?”

Ethari was quiet, before he gave Runaan a genuine smile. “Thank you.”

Runaan gazed at Ethari. A gentle flower of blush bloomed on his cheeks, as it always did when Ethari smiled. Feeling a flicker of hope, Runaan prayed that Ethari’s smile would regain its passion and vibrancy. But, for now, he was just happy that Ethari had the strength to smile at all.

“Of course.” Runaan returned Ethari’s smile. “If you need me, I’ll be in my room upstairs.” Glancing on last time at the elf, Runaan gently closed the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you listen closely, you can hear me sobbing in the distance. I love these two so much.


	7. Night of Sorrow, Day of Hate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y'all are ready...

As the sun slowly sank underneath the trees, night fell over Xadia. The songbirds ceased their singing, giving the crickets and the frogs the nighttime air to sing their songs. In the valley of the Silvergrove, the elves who had been hard at work clearing out the burned wood of Ethari’s forge all day finally returned to their homes. It seemed as if everyone in the whole of Xadia had fallen asleep.

Everyone, that is, except for a certain elf.

Runaan turned over in his bed, heaving a heavy sigh. He couldn’t sleep. No matter how much he tried to lose his mind to the incoherent thoughts that preceded the first stages of sleep, he would take a breath, and then be thrust back into the memories of the hungry flames, the nostalgic sadness of the Blue Moon Festival gone wrong… and his worries of Ethari.

Shifting loudly onto his side, Runaan stared out his window at the twinkling stars. The now waning moon was shining its light through the glass, only fueling Runaan’s restlessness. Grumbling, he pushed himself off of his bed and went to yank his drapes shut. Just as he gripped the thick, flowing fabric, however, he stilled.

The turmoil of emotions in his mind was becoming more and more chaotic with each passing minute. Worry, confusion, apprehension, and others Runaan couldn’t even describe, let alone name. It swirled in his head in a never-ending tornado, not appearing to dissipate at any time soon. At its eye, in the center of his worries, was Ethari.

Runaan’s hands dropped to his sides as he stared into the distance. Outside the window, he could see the tree branch balcony that extended from his study room. Even farther than that, the trees of the Moonshadow forest. The tree which he called his home was on the very outskirts of the village, far away from all the other homes. It was always quiet here. Runaan liked the quiet. He would wrap himself within the silence and be free to peacefully think his thoughts.

Tonight, however, the silence was a curse. Runaan’s thoughts, which he normally welcomed, were too loud.

Ethari was not okay. Runaan knew this very well. He himself has told the lie ‘I’m fine’ countless times. He knew of its effects all too well. How many times had he told Lain he was okay when he had scratches all across his arms from training? How many times had he assured Tiadrin he was fine when his vision swam and his legs were one breath away from giving out?

Runaan sighed. He had been worked so hard in his training, he could be stabbed in the chest, be coughing up blood, and still insist he could stand and fight. That was the way he had been taught since he was old enough to swing a sword. When he and Deimos had first begun Runaan’s swordfighting training.

_ “In battle,” The memory of Deimos instructed Runaan’s younger self, “you are to show no emotion at all. Showing emotion leads to showing fear. Fear is weakness. Any emotion is weakness, weakness that your enemies will exploit. Banish your fear away. Banish all of your emotions away. They will kill you in a battle. The only time you are to see fear is on the faces of your opponents as they kneel at your feet and beg for mercy. Do you understand, Runaan?” _

_ “Yes, Deimos.” Young Runaan replied. He barely stood above Deimos’ elbows at the time, but he already knew the basic fundamentals of the art of swordplay.  _

_ “What are the most important parts of being an assassin, Runaan?” Deimos scrutinized Runaan’s form, his dust gray eyes a cold weight on Runaan’s shoulders. _

_ “I am already dead.” He responded, whirling his wooden practice sword. “Death is inevitable. Be it in battle or on a deathbed.” _

_ “Good. Next?” _

_ “The keys to swordfighting are focus, patience, and resolve.” Runaan slashed and stabbed as Deimos easily parried the attacks. “Focus on your every move, as well as the moves of your opponent. Wait for the perfect opening. Then, without hesitation, strike with all of your power.” _

_ “Good, good.” Deimos purposefully left his right guard open, almost smirking when he saw Runaan’s eyes flash. “And, most of important of all,” _

_ “Show no emotion,” they both stated the mantra as Runaan dragged the wood sword across the right side of Deimos’ chest, right where one of the most important arteries was located. It would have killed him if the sword was real. “Show no fear.” _

Runaan shook his head furiously against the memories. He did  _ not _ want to think about  _ him _ . His lip curled in contempt. Deimos was the last person he would ever give any thought towards. He had already stolen so much from him. He would not let him take anymore of his mind.

Grabbing the drapes, Runaan yanked them closed. Instantly, his room was flooded with darkness. As he stood in the dark, Runaan felt dryness irritating his throat. Grumbling, he tip-toed across his room and opened his door. Keeping his footsteps quiet and light, as to not wake the elf sleeping below him, he descended down the winding steps to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water.

As he reached the last steps of his stairs and entered the hallway leading to the rest of his house, his eyes caught on the door to his guest room. He paused in confusion. It was open.

“ _ Did Ethari… _ ?” Moving as quietly as a mouse, Runaan slowly edged the door open, thanking his luck that he had recently oiled the hinges so they wouldn’t squeal. Runaan had to take a minute to let his eyes adjust to the darkness of the room. When he was finally able to see into the room, Runaan’s eyes widened at the tossed up blankets of the empty bed. Ethari wasn’t there.

“ _ Where is he _ ?” Runaan’s heart began to beat frantically in his chest. “ _ He didn’t leave, did he _ ?” After a moment of pondering, Runaan shook his head. “ _ No no, it’s the middle of the night, of course he didn’t leave… right _ ?”

A noise made Runaan jump. His heart racing, Runaan turned towards his kitchen, where the sound had come from. Squinting, he tip-toed through the hall, careful to keep his breathing as quiet as he could, and slowly peered around the corner.

A shape sat at Runaan’s table. After a moment of searching, Runaan recognized the shape of the figure’s horns and messy white hair. Sighing and feeling quite stupid, Runaan straightened out, his shoulders relaxing.

“ _ Of course _ ,” he thought, walking quietly into the room. “ _ It’s just Ethari _ .” He almost laughed at himself. “ _ He probably got hungry and came down to get something to eat _ .”

The noise Runaan had heard suddenly sounded again. It was loud enough this time for Runaan to place it. It was a strange sound… not quite a breath, but much more harsh. After a moment of walking, Runaan realized that it was Ethari who was making the noise.

Ethari’s back was to Runaan, his head in his hands, so he didn’t see Runaan approach him from behind. Runaan, unaware that the other elf had no awareness of his presence, laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Ethari-”

“BLEEDING MOONSTRIDERS!” Ethari exclaimed loudly, leaping from his seat. Runaan’s hand shot away from Ethari’s shoulder like it burned him. Ethari whipped his head to the other elf, irritation flashing uncharacteristically in his eyes.

“You CAN’T just sneak up on me like that! You nearly gave me a heart attack! I am  _ not _ in the mood for this right now!” He yelled, clutching the clothing over his chest as if to calm his racing heart. The dark circles underneath his eyes were even darker than before. His eyes were rimmed with red. Runaan realized with a pang that Ethari no longer looked like himself. He looked tired, irritated, and angry.

He looked like Deimos.

“I-I’m so sorry, I-” Runaan held up his hands, the angry expression on Ethari’s face making his heart sting. “I didn’t mean to scare you, I promise.”

Ethari, after one more moment of glaring at Runaan, finally took in his hurt expression. His reddened eyes widened.

“Oh- I… I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to…” Ethari stumbled over his words, before growling in frustration. Turning away from Runaan, he sat back in the chair and let his head fall to the table with a bang. “Agh! I’m such a…” He made a loud, incoherent noise, before he folded his arms over his head, sighing heavily.

Runaan stood behind him. His heart twisted as he gazed at Ethari’s hunched body. His previous surprise and hurt at Ethari’s biting words vanished. It was swiftly replaced by a deep sadness. It was awful just to see Ethari like this. It was so  _ wrong _ . Everything about the situation they were in was wrong. And Runaan had no clue how to make it right again.

But, that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try.

Setting his jaw, Runaan walked to Ethari’s side. Pulling out an empty chair, he sat in front of Ethari. Leaning his head around, he gently nudged Ethari’s arm.

“I really am sorry about scaring you. I’m not used to… um… talking to other people this late into the night alone.” Runaan’s spirits lifted a little when Ethari raised his head, his brown irises meeting Runaan’s turquoise ones. “It was my fault entirely. You don’t have to feel bad about reacting the way you did.”

Ethari chuckled dryly. “It’s fine. You said sorry, I said sorry. We’re even.”

“Ah, um, right.”

That sat in silence. Ethari rested his chin on his arms, staring blankly into the void. Runaan had to resist the urge to drum his fingers on the table. The awkwardness between them was at levels that hadn’t been reached since Runaan complemented Ethari when he, Tiadrin, and Lain had all visited him. Runaan sighed. That seemed so long ago. As he swallowed past the lump in his throat, he remembered the reason he came downstairs in the first place.

“Would you like some water?” Runaan asked Ethari, already standing up and walking to his cabinets, opening them and taking out two wooden cups. 

Ethari sighed. “Sure.”

Even though the answer was more monotone than Deimos’ lectures on proper battle stances, Runaan was happy that he was still taking care of himself, despite his emotional state. Grabbing the insulated jug of water he kept in his pantry, he poured himself an Ethari each a cup of cool water.

“Were you, uh, were you about to get something to eat?” Runaan asked Ethari as he sat down in front of him, sliding his cup towards him. Runaan sipped at his own water, looking at Ethari expectantly.

Ethari eyes the water for a minute. Sighing yet again, he picked up the cup and brought it to his lips.

“I was.” Ethari answered him, setting the cup back down after barely a sip. “None of the fruit appealed to me, though. Not that I don’t like the fruits. They’re delicious. I just have no appetite.” Ethari noticed Runaan’s glance. He waved his hand, as if he was attempting to wave off Runaan’s worry. “Don’t concern yourself with me, Runaan. I’ll be alright. I’m fine.”

Runaan was quiet. There it was again. ‘I’m fine’. He said it, but Runaan knew the truth. He swallowed past the lump in his throat. Staring at the reflection of his eyes in his half empty cup of water, Runaan exhaled forcefully, setting the cup down. He had to say something. He couldn’t let Ethari go on like this.

No. He  _ wouldn’t _ let Ethari go on like this.

“No you’re not.” Runaan stated. He held Ethari’s gaze as he glanced up, surprise in his eyes.

After searching Runaan’s face, Ethari frowned. “Runaan, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.” Runaan repeated.

Ethari exhaled irritably through his nose. “Runaan, I know you mean well, but I am  _ not _ in the mood for this. I really don’t want to argue with you right now.”

“There’s no argument to be had, Ethari,” Runaan leaned forward in his chair. “It’s very clear to me. You are  _ not _ fine.”

Ethari’s patience snapped. “Well, what would  _ you _ know about how I feel?!” He clenched his hands into fists. “My parents, who I barely remember, who had to leave me behind because their duties were too great, are dead! My grandparents, the  _ only _ people who  _ ever _ cared about me, are dead! I’ve just had the last remnants of my family burnt to the ground! You can’t possibly understand how that feels!”

A beat of silence past. Runaan’s face was blank. Ethari panted, his brown eyes bright with anger. However, as Ethari’s words hung in the nighttime air, Ethari’s hand shot to his mouth.

“Oh… oh Runaan, I…” the rest of Ethari’s sentence vanished, strangled in his throat. He clenched his teeth as memories surfaced from his mind.

_ “I never knew my parents,” Runaan explained to Ethari as he watched him draw out the designs for his sword hilt on the wood he would be carving it from. “My mother died after giving birth to me. My father became so anguished and broken without her, he left on a mission everyone knew he would not return from. And he never did.” _

_ “Oh…” Ethari glanced to Runaan, sadness filling his gaze. “That’s awful.” _

_ “Yeah.” It didn’t escape Ethari’s notice how little emotion was in the other elf’s voice. _

_ “Who… who took care of you?” _

_ “I was taken care of by many other couples throughout the Silvergrove. I would move from home to home, living and learning from the elves who took care of me. It wasn’t hard for me, or anything.” After a moment of pause, Runaan sighed. _

_ “I sometimes can’t help but wonder, though,” He contemplated, “what my life would have been like if they had lived.” _

It felt as if Ethari’s spirit was being slowly crushed by the weight of his guilt and regret. Runaan had never known the love of his parents. He had been moved from one family to another, never truly understanding what it felt like to be loved. And here Ethari was, yelling at him like his suffering didn’t even exist.

“ _ I’m a failure _ ,” Ethari depaired. The massive hole in his heart felt as if it was suffocating him. “ _ I am such a lowly, inconsiderate failure. How could I let myself fall this far? How could I have let this happen?! I’m… I’m so pathetic! Pathetic! I’m… I’m… _ ”

“You’re right.”

Ethari blinked at Runaan. Runaan met his red-rimmed eyes evenly. Ethari, after a moment of gaping at him, swallowed harshly.

“H-huh?”

“You’re right.” Runaan locked eyes with Ethari. “I don’t understand. I don’t understand, because you’re not being honest about how you’re really feeling.”

Leaning towards Ethari, he moved until he was nose-to-nose with him. Strangely, Runaan didn’t feel uncomfortable by the closeness.

“You are  _ not _ fine. You’re lying to me, and you’re lying to yourself. You are  _ not  _ fine.” Runaan took Ethari’s hand in his own, a pleading look in his eyes. “You need to let go, Ethari. You can’t just bottle your emotions inside you. It’s going to break you apart.”

Ethari’s lip trembled. “B… but I…”

“Please,” He begged, “I know how much this is hurting you. I can see it. You’re shaking, you’re tired, and you’re trying to win a battle that will only do you more harm.” Ethari bit his lip, looking down. He… he can’t. He doesn’t want to face it. The pain… the truth… it was all too much.

Runaan, with a gentleness not even the stars could match, held a finger underneath Ethari’s chin and slowly lifted his face up.

“Believe me,” Runaan’s face held a sorrow that made Ethari’s eyes widen. “I know.”

That was all it took. Finally, Ethari let his walls fall down.

Ethari wrapped his arms around Runaan as tightly as he could. His breath hitched painfully, and he finally began to cry. Runaan was quiet as Ethari sobbed onto his shoulder, leaning his head against Ethari’s. He closed his eyes, hugging Ethari in a firm embrace. Hearing Ethari cry, Runaan felt tears of his own prick his eyes. He shut his eyelids firmly. The only person who was allowed to cry was Ethari. Ethari was the one who had gone through so much. Runaan sighed through his teeth, burying his face in the folds of Ethari’s scarf.

“I-it just hurts!” Ethari stuttered between sobs. “It hurts so badly! I thought I could h-hold it together, but I c-can’t!”

“It’s okay,” Runaan whispered, gently rocking him back and forth. “It’s okay.”

“I wanted t-to try to keep it together,” Ethari bit his lip. “Th-that’s what we’re supposed to do! Moonshadow elves can’t be weak like I am! I wanted to be strong, but…”

“You’re  _ not _ weak.” Runaan told him firmly, hugging him tighter. “Feeling the pain you’re feeling right now is not weakness.” Ethari sniffled, his breath broken up with his tears. 

“I m-made a promise,” Ethari fell limp in Runaan’s arms. “I promised them… my grandparents… the day before they died, I promised I would look after the forge. I promised I would take care of it. And I… I…” Ethari shut his eyes tightly. “This is all my fault! I failed! I failed them! I… I…”

“No.” Runaan had such finality in his voice, Ethari blinked his eyes open. His lip trembled as he tried to breath normally.

“H-huh?” 

“The fire was not your fault.” There was no doubt in the words Runaan spoke. “It was a tragic accident. You had no idea this would happen. It’s  _ not _ your fault.” Runaan’s grip around Ethari tightened. “You are  _ not _ a failure.” 

He had never done any kind of comfort of this magnitude, but strangely, it didn’t feel new. It felt… natural. Runaan brought his hand up to Ethari’s head, tangling his fingers in his hair. He brought Ethari’s face out and looked him in his eyes.

“You are  _ not _ weak. You’ve gone through so much hardship, so much pain and so much suffering, yet you still push through. You live through every day, no matter how much it hurts. That is true strength.”

Ethari blinked, sending more tears down his cheeks. “I… I…”

“Don’t even try to say otherwise,” Runaan narrowed his eyes at him. “You are strong. You are strong in the most important ways. Don’t let  _ anything _ ever convince you otherwise.”

Ethari stared at Runaan’s face. His lower lip trembled slightly. Runaan’s words struck a chord in Ethari’s soul. They rekindled a fire in Ethari’s heart that had been reduced to a stuttering pile of cinders. Though it was still weak, the flame would, as Runaan had said, live on.

Ethari laughed. Runaan watched with wonder as he laughed, tears still pouring down his face. It wasn’t a laugh of joy or sorrow. It was a laugh of something else. A deep, cleansing laugh. Runaan’s spirits lifted as he could practically feel the negative feelings Ethari had been holding in flow out of his body. 

“You must think I’m such a mess.” Ethari chucked, wiping his cheeks.

“We’re all a mess.” Runaan squeezed Ethari’s hand. “This isn’t something that we can easily walk away from. It will take time, and it will take work. Lots of it.”

“Work…” Ethari nodded. “That… I can do.” After a minute of silence, he chuckled. “All those lessons of endurance won’t go to waste after all.”

Runaan shook his head, an exasperated smirk on his face. He put another hand on Ethari’s shoulder, looking him in his beautiful brown eyes.

“You may not be okay now,” He told him, “but you will be. You’re going to make it through this, Ethari. You’re strong.”

Ethari smiled a little. “You… you really believe that?” 

Runaan, seeing the hope in Ethari’s eyes slowly return, nodded. “Yes.” He wrapped Ethari in another hug. “I know you’ll be okay.”

Ethari smiled, and he gratefully returned Runaan’s embrace.

* * *

_ Whizzzzzzzzzzzz- _ thunk!

Runaan clicked his tongue as his arrow found its mark in the center of his well-worn target, placed over eighty yards away from where he was standing. Sighing, he ran across the training field to retrieve the arrow. 

Training wasn’t enough to keep the thoughts that occupied his head away. He was already so skilled, every arrow he loosed was so precise, it could split a hair that was being blown in a windstorm. Still, he did his best to push the thoughts as far back in his mind that they would go, focusing instead on refining his skills until he could be blindfolded and spun ten times in a field and still shoot a perfect bull’s eye on a target fifty yards away. 

In one yank, Runaan pulled the arrow from the target. Wood splinters came off with it, falling off the tip onto the ground. Runaan stared at them as they lay in the grass. “ _ Need a new practice target _ .” He mused absently, trudging back to the end of the field for another round. “ _ Maybe I’ll shoot from a hundred yards this time. That’ll give me something to work towards _ .”

As he took his position about a hundred yards from the target, the wind suddenly picked up from almost nothing to a moderate breeze. “ _ Ah. That’s a challenge _ .” Runaan took aim at the target, then factored in the wind. Aiming his arrow in accordance with the wind, he waited, breathing deeply as the tension in his fingers grew stronger and stronger.

“ _ Ready… ready… _ ”

“Hey, Runaan!”

Runaan jerked, the cord snapping painfully across his fingers as the arrow shot directly into the ground only twenty yards away. Sucking a breath through his teeth as his fingertips throbbed and stung, he shot a heated glare at Tiadrin and Lain, who were making their way over to him at a brisk pace.

“What have I told you time and time again, Tiadrin?!” Runaan waved his hand in the wind, the cool air lessening the stinging heat on the pads of his fingers.

Tiadrin abruptly stopped, her eyes resting on the bow he had in his hand. “Oh! Sorry, Runaan! Were you practicing?”

Runaan fixed her with an unbelieving look. “No, I was just in my training field holding my bow out because I felt like it.” He said sarcastically. Tiadrin frowned at him, but didn’t rebuke. She quietly watched him as he ran to retrieve the arrow, swearing under his breath as the pain in his fingertips finally began to ebb. Pulling the arrow from the ground, wiping the damp earth from the tip, and ran back to meet up with his waiting friends.

“You  _ seriously _ couldn’t have waited until after I shot?” Runaan asked her. Tiadrin rolled her eyes in good nature.

“Not really. It’s not like you don’t practice for endless hours a week. But hey, we all need to yell sometimes.” She crossed her arms, huffing.

“Sorry about that, Runaan.” Lain sighed as he apologized for his girlfriend. “We've been looking for an opportunity to catch you alone. How are you?”

Runaan shrugged. “As well as I normally am.” It was true. He was feeling more like himself today, despite his intrusive thoughts.

“How’s Ethari? Is he feeling alright?” Tiadrin added. They both looked at Runaan expectantly. Sighing, Runaan combed his fingers through his hair. So that was the true reason behind their visit.

“He’s doing… better.” Runaan pursed his lips, worry clouding his eyes, before shaking his head to rid himself of it. “I can’t say for sure, but… I would like to think he’s making progress.”

It had only been two days since the Blue Moon festival, but it had seemed like two eternities. After that night when Ethari had broken down in Runaan’s arms, he had woken up looking refreshed. Lighter. Crying out all of his feelings onto Runaan’s shoulder had cleansed him, like how one rinses out a dirty pot. It would take time, but Ethari was slowly regaining his former cheer. 

He had spent most of yesterday finishing up with the weapons he had salvaged from what was left of his forge, using one of the minor forges in the village. When he had returned to Runaan’s house as twilight fell on the Silvergrove, he was tired, but content. Working had cleared his head of his poisonous thoughts, and had left him hungry enough to eat Runaan’s vegetable soup (which wasn’t half bad despite Runaan’s warnings, and he spent most of the dinner insisting to Runaan he liked it). He had two helpings of the soup, which brought a smile onto Runaan’s face. After yawning goodnight to Runaan, Ethari crashed onto the bed and slept like a rock. Runaan discovered, after checking on him before he went to bed himself, that Ethari had a light snore. He had to cover his mouth to smother his breathy laughter. It was simply too cute. 

That morning, Ethari had woken with a smile. He had an air about him that made Runaan think something good was about to happen. When he had inquired about it, however, Ethari told him that he simply was looking forward to his work. Runaan could sense that that wasn’t the whole truth, but he was too happy about Ethari’s returned optimism to care. When he bid Ethari well, he had gone to the fields to train his archery skills. And here he was now, speaking to Tiadrin and Lain.

“That’s good to hear.” Lain said, relieved. “We’ve been very worried for him. He loved his forge very dearly, and to lose it all…” He shook his head sadly. “I can’t even imagine what that must feel like.”

Runaan nodded in sympathy. The trio had never really experienced real pain in their lives. Tiadrin and Lain both grew up with loving parents, who still resided happily within the village. Though Runaan’s parents were both dead, he had never felt uncared for. The many couples in the Silvergrove took it upon themselves to raise him. He had moved from home to home, listening to stories and learning about his culture.

Of course, he wouldn’t change a thing about his past. But, when it came to understanding Ethari… In a way, he almost wished he could have a deeper understanding of him.

“And for the forge to even catch fire in the first place… How could that have even happened?” Tiadrin wondered. She put her hands on her hips, pouting. “Ethari is such a pure soul. He’s so kind and honest with everyone he meets. Why would the universe think he was deserving of this kind of suffering?”

“It’s not a matter of deserving, Tiadrin.” Runaan put out. “It’s not as if fate decided to cause the fire. It was a horrible, horrible accident.” Runaan was not one who believed in higher powers. Be it luck, fate, or some other superstition, none of it impacted Runaan. He was one who knew that only the choices they make would shape the future. And sometimes, things happened. It was beyond their control.

It was simply an accident.

“Unless…” Tiadrin muttered, her eyes wide, “it…  _ wasn’t  _ an accident.”

Runaan stilled. He slowly turned to Tiadrin, a shadow over his eyes. “What.”

Tiadrin, her sky blue eyes flicking wildly, began pacing back and forth. “Okay okay, hear me out. There is no possible way that the fire started by accident.” She spoke so fast, Runaan and Lain had to struggle to keep up. “Ethari isn’t careless. He always thoroughly puts out every fire he uses for forging. And he had no candles; only windows and light flowers. It doesn’t make sense that it was an open flame accident.”

Runaan’s feet rooted to the ground. His hand went slack, his bow clattering as it hit the ground, along with the arrow. His eyes were wide as Tiadrin’s words sank in.

“Tiadrin,” Lain’s voice sounded shaky, “I get what you’re saying, but what you’re implying is…” He raked a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “No. There is no way.”

“Yes, there is,” She argued. “There is no possible explanation that it happened by accident. It couldn’t have been the storm, because there was no lightning until after the storm broke, which was after the forge caught fire. It couldn’t have been some freak accident with some flammable substance, because even a blacksmith with half a brain would never keep something flammable in a forge, let alone where it could catch fire!”

“What about Selena?” Lain put out. “She was in the forge when the fire started. She could have been messing around with something.”

“Are you mad?!” Runaan exclaimed. The very notion that a sweet soul like Selena would set fire to Ethari’s forge made his blood heat. “Selena isn’t some brainless cat! She’s a highly intelligent werecat, and she would never do anything that would hurt Ethari!”

“Besides,” Tiadrin added, “even if she did start the fire, she wouldn’t have been trapped by that burning plank. She would have seen the fire starting, and would have escaped long before it got out of control.” She folded her hands in front of her mouth in deep concentration. Lain exchanged a fearful glance with Runaan, whose gaze was tight with focus as well.

“It would have to have been someone with a reason to dislike Ethari. Whether it be jealousy, a long time grudge, or the like,” Tiadrin’s eyebrows knit as the gears in her head turned. “Someone with an extensive bad history with Ethari.”

“Tiadrin…”

If Tiadrin heard him, she gave no indication. She continued her thoughtful pacing. “Someone who knew exactly how and where to set the fire, so it would consume all the most important parts of the forge,”

“Tiadrin…”

“Someone with an unquestionable authority, who is deeply respected and would  _ never _ even be considered a suspect in this type of crime,”

“Tiadrin…”

“Someone who knew just how much the forge meant to Ethari, and knew exactly what would break his heart.” She turned to Lain. “What were you trying to say…” She followed his horrified gaze, and she stiffened when her eyes landed on Runaan.

Runaan’s hands were clenched in fists so tight, his fingernails would have been driven deep into his palms if it wasn’t for his gloves. His breathing was fast and shallow. But what made Tiadrin and Lain both back away in fear was his eyes.

Rage. But not just any rage. This flaming anger was fueled by an emotion Runaan rarely  _ ever _ expressed: hate. Twin turquoise fires of hatred.

“R… Runaan…?” Tiadrin whispered.

“I know.” The tone of his voice was terrifyingly calm.

“Wh-what…?”

“I know.” He snatched up his bow and shouldered it angrily, his eyes flashing like those of three-eyed nightfoxes, who after hours of tracking, finally found their prey. “I know  _ exactly _ who would do it.”

Without another word of explanation, Runaan left the training field. The thoughts and worries in his mind were now finally gone. But, they had been replaced with something much, much worse. An icy certainty, surrounded by the burning fire of hatred.

Runaan moved through the village with purpose. Rage burned white-hot through his entire being, making his turquoise irises pulse with hate. Any elf who happened to catch sight of him quickly glanced away. Even from a distance, they could sense the heavy aura of anger around Runaan. They didn’t speak. They just simply let him pass, going about their business as usual, unaware of the true reason behind the boy’s rage.

Unaware of the events that would forever change the lives of those in the Silvergrove.

“ _ All this time _ ,” Runaan seethed, “ _ ALL this time, you’ve been watching. Planning. Waiting for the right time so that you could carry out your bidding with no suspicion. _ ” Runaan tilted his head in the direction of the distant sword clashing that sounded to his left. He quickly turned and followed them. “ _ You’ve always had it out for him. Ever since he broke away from you. But you had no excuse to do this. Not until I came into the picture. _ ” Runaan’s heart was a piece of boiling steel. “ _ You… you MONSTER _ .”

Feet pounding the earth as he reached where the clashing noises were coming from. Slowing to a stop, Runaan’s veins flooded with ice as his assumptions were confirmed. Banishing all emotion from his face, Runaan’s eyes turned as cold as glaciers. Mouth pressed in a hard line, Runaan stalked to the figure that stood in the sandy training field. Where Runaan’s and Ethari’s fates were tied when Runaan’s first sword became ruined. Where he had stood, unknowingly, with the person who would destroy the life of the one Runaan loved. 

  
  
  
“ _ YOU _ .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HA HA HA HA, CLIFFHANGER YET AGAIN! WHO'S IT GONNA BE? WHO'S IT GONNA BE???


	8. A Sword Reborn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a bit on the later side. I've had a rough week. I hope you enjoy!

“Ah. I was just about to go looking for you, Runaan.” The elf sheathed his sword, his chin high as Runaan stared at him from across the field. “Your finals are fast approaching, and it’s been too long since you’ve trained your swordsmanship. We need to be sure you actually have enough skill to complete your training.”

“ _ Do we, now _ ?” Runaan thought venomously. It took all of his self control to keep his face neutral. He bit his tongue as the elf stared back at him with his loathsome, dull gray eyes.

“Well?” Deimos frowned at Runaan’s lack of a response. “What are you waiting for? Let us begin.” He turned around, beckoning Runaan with a flick of his wrist. Runaan suppressed a growl.

“ _ He’s acting real bold, for a man that just destroyed Ethari’s forge, the most important forge in the Silvergrove _ ,” Runaan thought, allowing a frown to crease his face. “ _ If you seriously believe I’m going to let you get away with this, you’re terribly mistaken _ .”

“I’m  _ waiting _ , Runaan.” Deimos shot Runaan a look. The sight of those dusty eyes made Runaan want to scream. He clenched his fists, the fabric creasing where his fingers dug into his palms. It seemed as if his entire body was consumed with hate, but he kept his mouth shut.

“ _ I can’t confront him about it. Not yet _ ,” Slowly, he walked down into the field, Deimos watching him intently. “ _ I have to be careful about this. If I can find enough evidence that proves he was the one who did it, I can talk to Luna, or any of the Council. If I do this right, they’ll convict him _ .”

“ _ If I can somehow make him admit it… that will be all it takes _ .”

“It’s about time you’ve had swordsmanship training.” Deimos dragged the crude wooden mannequin he had been sparring against to the center of the field. The wood had deep chips at the throat, chest, and arms, where on a living person, would be the fatal points. “I was lenient with the amount of time you took off. Here, I’ve even gone through the trouble to find you a suitable sword. You’re welcome.” Deimos tossed the weapon at Runaan, who caught it easily. Immediately, the tip of the sword dipped in his grasp. Runaan scowled at the blade. It was just as imbalanced as the one he had bent, perhaps even more. The giant guard and the rail-straight shape of the blade was reminiscent of Deimos’ ideal sword: simple, boring, and highly inferior to the weapons that Ethari made. And he had the audacity to say ‘you’re welcome’ like he had done Runaan a great deed.

“Begin with your warm-up patterns. Go slowly. You haven’t done this for a long while.” Deimos instructed him. Runaan pressed his lips into a thin line. Every fiber in his body wanted nothing more than to throw the sword he was holding right into Deimos’ pretentious face. He gripped the hilt of the sword so hard, he swore he heard the old leather grip crack.

“ _ Calm down _ ,” He told himself, exhaling slowly though his nose. “ _ Keep your composure. It’s just like swordfighting. Watch, wait, strike _ .” Widening his stance, balancing his weight between his feet, he held out the sword and began his warm-up sets.

Deimos observed Runaan intently as he moved the sword from position to position, as familiarly as breathing. Despite the eyes of a traitor on his every move, Runaan allowed his mind to concentrate on going through his sets to the best of his abilities. Right parry, right slash, left parry, left slash, overhead parry, forward thrust. He repeated the motions dozens of times, each time assessing himself to see what he could be doing better. 

“Lift the blade higher,” Deimos told Runaan sharply. “You’re shifting your weight too much. Relax your shoulders. Start over, that wasn’t good enough to continue.”

Runaan ground his teeth. The fact that Deimos was so over-exacting for only the  _ warm-up _ patterns only added to the cauldron of hate. Before, Runaan just sighed and beared it. Now, Runaan was just one breath away from biting his own tongue off.

“That’s enough.” Deimos barked. He shook his head. “You’ve become more idle than I thought. I  _ knew _ that letting  _ that elf _ destroy that perfectly good sword would lead to this. And now here we are, only days away from your final exams, and you have fallen so far behind.” He clicked his tongue. 

_ That elf That elf That elf That elf That elf _

That was it. Whatever thin string of self-control Runaan had attempted to rein his rage with snapped in two.

“I’m sorry I’m not exactly performing my best,” Runaan kept his voice calm, “this sword isn’t exactly fit for me.”

Deimos’ eyes flashed. He dropped his crossed arms to his sides, staring down at Runaan.

“Excuse me?”

Runaan shrugged, giving the sword a mocking look. “You heard me. This sword isn’t fit for me. There’s too much weight at the top of the blade. Just like my old sword.” He threw a glance at Deimos. “Kind of why I needed a new one in the first place.”

Deimos’ gaze grew dark. He narrowed his eyes at the boy. “Oh? Is it, now?”

“Yes.” Runaan swirled the sword in his hands casually, swinging it back and forth. “Over the past few days, I’ve been watching Ethari’s forging process. He’s explained to me in great detail how exactly he works. The sword Ethari’s been making me would have been a weapon that could have rivaled any…” Runaan stopped twirling his blade. “It’s a real loss that he may never get to finish it.”

Deimos frowned deeply. “Yes…” the corner of his mouth ticked. “It is quite a shame. A waste of time and energy.”

Runaan scowled at the older elf. “You say that like that’s what it was.”

“Because it was.” He replied simply. “Now get in position. We must train your reflexes.”

“No.”

Deimos was taken aback. “Ex _ cuse _ me?” His voice grew dangerously low. “I believe I told you to get into your training position.”

“And I believe I told you no.” Runaan stood firm. His turquoise irises flashed. “I refuse to train this sword.” He held it out in front of him, then opened his hand and let it fall to the ground. Deimos’ eyes widened, his teeth visibly clenching.

“Just what do you think you’re  _ doing _ , boy?!” He loomed over Runaan, the dust gray shade of his eyes becoming stormy.

Runaan was not intimidated in the slightest. “I will not train with a weapon that is not suited to me. All I am doing is training how to compensate for an imbalance. Not training my fighting skills. Therefore, I refuse to train.” He crossed his arms, lifting his chin.

Deimos was livid. “You impudent, ungrateful boy!” He thundered, “I went through the trouble of acquiring you a high-class sword that I believed was more than worthy of your skill set, and this is how you treat it?! This is how you treat  _ me _ ?!” Shoving his foot underneath the blade, he flicked unwards into his palm. He shoved the sword into Runaan’s arms, Runaan needing to step back to avoid being cut. “You  _ will _ train. Whether you like it or not, this is how you must uphold your duty to the Silvergrove. This is how it must be done.”

Runaan bared his teeth. “Uphold my duty?  _ Uphold my duty _ ?!” His voice made the songbirds pause, “if my duty is to fight, then don’t you think I should have the weapon that would allow me to fight to the best of my abilities! But no! My duty to the Silvergrove is more than just fighting!”

Deimos scoffed disbelievingly. “Oh really?”

Runaan narrowed his eyes. “I have more worth than just an assassin. I have a life outside of fighting, and training, and killing!”

Deimos’ eyes flashed in such a way, Runaan knew he was close to what he seeked to find. Runaan sneered. “Of course, what would you know about that?”

Deimos stood speechless. His mouth hung open, his eyes wide and appalled. Slowly, his hands balled up into fists, his teeth clenching once more.

“I  _ knew _ you had been spending too much time there.”

Runaan cocked his head. “What?”

Deimos straightened his posture, looking down on Runaan, his lip curled contemptuously. “I had tolerated _that_ _elf_ reforging your sword, because at the time, I had believed you would need a blade that was ‘properly suited to your specific needs’,” Deimos’ voice turned mocking, making Runaan’s blood turn to ice. “That was before I remembered the severe consequences of _that elf’s_ work.”

“Oh?” The venom in Runaan’s voice could dissolve steel. “Which are?”

“That elf, the  _ Master Craftsman _ ,” Deimos’ voice was drenched with contempt, “had so much potential. He had skill, skill that was on par with yours. He was adaptive, quick, and clever. He would have been such a valuable asset to the ranks of the assassins.”

Deimos’ hard gaze flicked back to Runaan. “But he was weak. He lacked resolve. His fighting skills were refined, but he had no will to take life. Of all his talents, he chose the worst weakness. It is impossible to be an assassin without death.” His eyes narrowed. “And now, his weakness has rubbed off onto you.”

Runaan could feel his heart go cold. “What.”

Deimos sneered. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed.” He began to pace around Runaan, his face hovering near his head. “Always running to be on time for dinner. Leaving the end of your classes in haste, spending  _ much _ more time than necessary with  _ that elf _ .” He shook his head. “I didn’t want to believe it. I thought you were too dedicated to let him influence you. It wasn’t until I saw you the day before the blue moon that I realized you had fallen.”

Runaan’s eyes widened. “ _ That doesn’t mean _ …”

Deimos smirked at Runaan’s expression. “Yes. I watched you come down from that forge like you had been possessed. You were quiet, you looked conflicted, and you said nothing to your friends, but I knew.”

Runaan sucked in a breath. “How-”

“You had this  _ look _ in your eyes. I knew that look very well.” For a split second, Deimos’ eyes grew distant. “It was the same look  _ she _ had, the day she had fallen in love with  _ that elf _ .”

The realization slammed into Runaan with the force of a thousand shooting stars. “ _ Ethari’s mother… _ ”

“Ah, so you’ve heard the story,” Deimos’ lip curled at Runaan’s horrified face. “She, Zira, could have achieved great things. She could have led the assassins with unquestionable authority. But, after she had fallen for  _ him _ …” His face twisted with disgust, “she sealed her fate. She let herself become soft-willed and weak. And even now, decades later,” Deimos stopped right in front of Runaan’s face. “The weakness of that family is still corrupting the strength of others.”

Runaan was silent. Even if he wanted to speak, he couldn’t. The words were stuck in his throat, clogged with shock and anger. He could only watch as Deimos turned away.

“I had predicted that  _ that boy _ would have inherited the weakness of his parents. My suspicions were confirmed when he backed out of his training. And I wasn’t surprised when you began to listen to him. But I would not repeat the mistakes I have made in the past.” Deimos’ back was to Runaan, his hands clasped together behind him. “This time, I did not stand by and let great potential be wasted. This time… I put a stop to it.”

Runaan’s eyes widened. His turquoise irises pulsed in time with his heart. Slowly, very, very slowly, he found his voice.

“… it  _ was _ you.”

Deimos turned his head, eyeing Runaan with a sideways gaze. “Oh?”

Runaan’s teeth were bared in a primal snarl. He clenched the sword with both hands. “ _ YOU _ WERE THE ONE WHO BURNED HIS FORGE!”

Deimos’ eyebrows raised. His eyes flashed. For a moment, he looked genuinely shocked. He gaped at Runaan, who shifted his feet into a readying stance.

“… Oh?” His mouth pulled upwards in a sinister smirk. “Am I, now?” He turned, fully facing Runaan, and drew his own sword. “That forge was the one thing that  _ that elf  _ had to keep you from your destiny. Now that it is gone, you can become who you are meant to be.”

Runaan’s world turned red. Gripping the hilt of his sword, he raised it into position. “His,” -he ground his heel into the sand- “name,” -his eyes glowed almost white with rage- “is,” -he sucked in a breath- “ETHARI!”

Fueled by the ever-burning passion of rage, Runaan charged at his enemy, sword whistling through the air, and swung.

* * *

Ethari hummed brightly as he moved through his shop, searching among his many tools for the right carving head size. His hands hovered over several different tools, before finally finding and selecting the right one. Twirling it a little in his fingers, he made his way back to his chair and sat down.

With practiced care, Ethari picked up the small circle of metal he had laid on the desk and began etching a crescent moon design into it. Carefully following the lines he had drawn onto it beforehand, he dug the ball-shaped head of the tool across the metal repeatedly, wiping away the flakes with a gentle brush of his fingertip. It was a delicate process, but Ethari had years of experience. His hands were steady, and his mind was patient. Slowly the design was completely carved from the metal.

Setting down his carving tool, Ethari fumbled for his small square of sandpaper. After his fingers brushed against the grainy sheet, he picked it up and carefully smoothed the crescent design until all the facets in the metal disappeared, leaving a flawless, smooth moon. Ethari smiled at his work, nodding to himself. Throwing the sandpaper back on the desk, he stood up from his chair and carefully lifted one of the swords from the far end of his work desk and set it in front of him. 

Flipping the blade over, Ethari carefully set the circle of metal on the end of the hilt, lining up the holes he had drilled into it with the holes in the hilt. Glancing out of the corner of his eye, he quickly grabbed the two tiny nails that remained within his small nail container. With the precision he had worked for years to build, Ethari set the nails into place. Once he was sure they were correctly positioned, he used his thumb to push the nails into the hilt, bracing the circle of metal completely against the wood.

Humming excitedly, Ethari held out the now fully completed weapon. He turned it over in his hands, inspecting the curved blade, hilt, and the sphere of turquoise with a trained eye for any flaws. He was delighted when he saw none. Grinning, he swung the blade through the air. It whistled almost silently, cutting through the wind as easily as a river flowed down a canyon. Twirling the blade, he held it in front of himself, laying the flat of the metal against his finger.

“ _ Finally _ …” Ethari’s whisper floated in the air as he brushed the flat of the blade with his fingertips, tracing the folded petal designs. “ _ Finally finished _ .”

Out of all of Ethari’s weapons, complete and incomplete, that had survived the fire, he had nearly melted with gratitude when he saw that  _ this  _ weapon had been untouched by the flames, still waiting to be completed. He had moved it from his storage room to his main store, as he always did with weapons that were almost done, just before leaving to attend the Blue Moon Festival. Once again, Ethari thanked the stars for his instincts. Without them… he could have lost his most precious order.

Ethari carried the blade to the end of his desk, where he lay it on a square of silken cloth. He delicately wrapped it around the sword, until only the vague shape of it was visible through the folds of white cloth. Picking up the bundled weapon, Ethari turned around, preparing to leave.

“ _ I have to find him _ ,” He thought, his heart fluttering with excitement, “ _ I have to give it to him right away _ !”

Just then, the doors to his store slammed open. Ethari practically leaped out of his skin. He was lucky he held the sword in such a way where he did not drop it.

“ETHARI!” Tiadrin burst into his store. “ETHAR- oh, you’re right there.”

“Bleeding moonstriders, Tiadrin!” He responded, shooting her a glare. “I’m way too young to have a heart attack!”

“I’m really sorry, Ethari, but this is kind of urgent!” Lain piped up from behind Tiadrin. His head appeared over Tiadrin’s. “We need you to come with us, like, NOW.”

“Why, why, what’s going on?” He asked, his annoyance swiftly replaced with concern. He shifted the sword in his arms, drawing the two elves gazes towards it.

“What’s that?” Tiadrin asked curiously, momentarily forgetting her mission.

“Oh!” Ethari glanced at the cloth-wrapped sword. “This is a sword! It’s, uh,  _ his _ sword, in fact.” Despite himself, Ethari glanced to the side, a blush on his cheeks.

“You finished it?!” Lain exclaimed, a wide grin on his face. “That’s wonderful!”

“Good timing, too!” Tiadrin chimed in. “He’s gonna need it!”

Ethari blinked at her words. “Uh, what? Why?”

Tiadrin sucked in a breath through her teeth. “Ah… well, you see, ah- mmmmmm.” She glanced to Lain, shrugging helplessly.

“It’s… complicated,” Lain searched for the best way to break the news to Ethari, “but… long story short, we met up with Runaan earlier, we discovered… something big… and now Runaan’s swordfighting Deimos in the training field.”

“Probably to the death.” Tiadrin put in helpfully. “If worst comes to worst.”

All of Ethari’s trains of thought slammed to a halt. “He’s WHAT?!” Spluttering, he transcended across the plane of reality before he found his voice again. “What’s he fighting  _ with _ ?!”

“A sword Deimos brought him, originally for swordsmanship training.” Tiadrin answered.

Ethari’s mouth fell open. “That is not good.”

She shook her head in agreement. “Nope.”

“That’s why we came to get you!” Lain explained. “Any sword Deimos has is not fit for Runaan! You’re the only one who knows the kind of weapons he can best fight with!”

“And with that sword,” Tiadrin gestured to the cloth-wrapped weapon in Ethari’s arms. “He has a chance of winning against Deimos!”

Ethari’s eyes flicked back and forth wildly, before he closed them. Facing the two elves in front of him, his gaze hardened with resolve.

“Well, we haven’t any time to waste, haven’t we?” He said, gripping the sword in his arms. “Let’s go! Runaan needs us!”

* * *

Runaan’s heart pounded almost as rapidly as his feet did as he moved and danced left and right to avoid the swiping sword that threatened to draw across his arms. Leaping several paces backwards, he brought up his sword to block another slash. Gripping the hilt with both hands, Runaan pushed against the attacking sword with all his might, throwing Deimos off balance. Taking a few backwards steps to balance himself, Deimos clicked his tongue, twirling his weapon effortlessly.

“Your reaction time is still slow, Runaan.” He stated, circling Runaan, who panted as he mirrored Deimos’ movements. “Whatever foolish idea  _ that elf _ had put into your head that it’s a problem with your sword is inane. It is clearly a problem with  _ you _ .”

“No!” Runaan spat. “You’re wrong! This sword you have given me is even worse than the one I used to have!”

“And you’ve suddenly become an expert on sword balance?” Deimos scoffed. “Open your eyes, boy! You’re never going to improve yourself like this! You have to admit you are weak!”

“Shut up!” Runaan’s feet kicked up clouds of sand as he charged at Deimos again, slashing as fast as he could against Deimos’ sword. Deimos parried all of Runaan’s attacks, then drove his hand against Runaan’s chest, sending him falling back against the sand. Runaan gasped as his back struck the earth. Coughing, he rolled himself onto his stomach as he gasped for breath.

“Admit it, Runaan!” Deimos yelled to him. “ _ That boy _ had made you weak. You would have  _ never  _ been knocked down so quickly in a fight if you had continued your training as normal.”

“ _ Shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up _ !” Runaan pushed himself back onto his feet, shaking the sand from his body. The braid in his hair had come loose, much of his hair falling into his eyes. His turquoise eyes flashed from behind the strands of white, like the eyes of a predator from behind the underbrush. “You’re wrong!”

Deimos shook his head, sighing exasperatedly. “When will you learn?” His dust-gray eyes were alight with anger. “When will you learn that emotions are the greatest weaknesses? That  _ attachments _ are the greatest weaknesses? You are only dooming yourself, Runaan!”

“Dooming myself to what?!” Runaan yelled back. “To death?! Ha!” Grinning savagely, Runaan held out his arms. “I am already dead! I have nothing to fear!”

Deimos’ face twisted with anger. “Foolish boy! You don’t understand! You have duties that were bestowed upon you by your people! You must live your life to uphold those duties!”

“I don’t live just for my people!” Runaan screamed, brandishing his weapon. “I live for myself!” Charging at Deimos once more, he locked them in a furious trade-off of slashing blows.

Runaan panted as he swung his sword left, right, back and forth, trying desperately to find a weakness in Deimos’ form, but it was no use. Every time Runaan’s blade met Deimos’, an unnatural shudder went up his wrist. He couldn’t move his sword quickly enough to keep on the offensive. It took all of his concentration to move quickly enough to parry Deimos’ attacks. Runaan grit his teeth as he was forced to take a step backward.

And another. And another, and another.

Deimos’ lip curled as he advanced, locking the two swords together. He laughed scornfully at Runaan, whose teeth were bared as he used all of his strength to keep the pressure on his sword, his hands trembling from the effort. Runaan’s knees bent as Deimos pushed harder and harder, the tips of the blades mere inches away from his eyes.

“Even with all of your talents,” Deimos sighed, “all of your skills, all of your efforts,” his gray eyes bore into Runaan’s, “You’re. Still. Weak.”

Deimos suddenly slashed his sword outward, ripping Runaan’s sword from his hands. Runaan’s gaze followed it briefly, before snapping back to Deimos, just as he mercilessly swung his sword at Runaan’s face.

Runaan stumbled to the ground with a shout of pain. To his shock, he felt a sharp stinging on his right cheek, as well as a wet warmth that started spreading down his face. He brought his fingers to his face and touched his cheek. His eyes widened with shock as the fingertips of his gloves came back glistening and slick with blood. 

Sucking a sharp breath through his teeth, Runaan tried desperately to catch his breath. Turning onto his back, he gasped when the tip of Deimos’ sword hovered over his throat.

His eyes locked with Deimos’. He held his breath as Deimos stood over him, panting. His dust gray eyes narrowed at Runaan’s shocked face.

“Don’t be so surprised, Runaan.” He grinned a savage grin. “You never stood a chance.”

“STOP!!”

Runaan’s and Deimos’ heads both whipped at the sudden voice. Their eyes widened as they saw three familiar figures run towards them from the top of the hill.

“Tiadrin?!” Runaan exclaimed. “Lain?! E- _ Ethari _ ?!”

Deimos’ teeth bared in a snarl. “DON’T INTERFERE!” He shouted at them. “HE NEEDS TO LEARN THE CONSEQUENCES OF BECOMING WEAK!” His gray eyes were wild, like those of a beast. Runaan, in a split second, saw his form relax ever so slightly. Instantly, he saw his chance.

And he took it.

Shifting his weight to his hands, Runaan kicked up his feet and shoved hard against the flat of Deimos’ sword. Deimos let out a cry of shock as he stumbled backward, trying to maintain his footing. Runaan, seizing his stolen moments of opportunity, quickly tucked into a backwards somersault, scrambling back onto his feet.

Runaan, just barely regaining his senses, gasped as Deimos’ furious eyes locked onto his. “WHY, YOU INSOLENT LITTLE-” Without pause, Deimos brought up his sword and charged at him.

Runaan’s eyes widened, his hands instinctively going up to defend himself, before movement out of the very corner of his gaze caught his attention.

“RUNAAN!” 

Ethari threw down what looked like a length of white cloth with one hand, and with the other, he threw something towards Runaan with all of his strength.

Time seemed to slow down.

The pounding of Deimos’ heavy footsteps got closer and closer to Runaan.

Runaan didn’t think.

He threw all of his fear to the wind.

In that moment, he poured all of his trust, all of his faith, all of his  _ life _ , in Ethari.

In one second, Runaan’s eyes flicked sideways to the approaching shape that whistled through the air. As it spun closer and closer to him, he suddenly recognized, deep in his mind, what the object was. Holding out his hand, he felt the smoothness of wood meet the skin of his palm. His fingers wrapped around it easily, as if it was meant to be there. Not wasting a single moment, he brought the hand that held the object across his face, just as Deimos swung his sword in a lethal downwards strike.

Deimos’ sword met the object with a sharp, loud ring. It echoed across the field as Runaan finally saw the true form of the gift Ethari had given him.

It was a sword.

No.

It was  _ his _ sword.

Runaan’s eyes were wide as he beheld it. Sunlight gleamed off of the silvery white metal, tracing the folded petal pattern engraved in the curved blade. Runaan’s fingers tightened around the hilt, which had swirling patterns of green on a backdrop of deep navy. Tiny circles of metal adorned the wood of the hilt, and at the very end, a smooth pommel of sea turquoise.

“What…” Deimos’ eyes widened as he looked at Runaan’s new weapon. “But… how…” He glanced at Ethari, before returning his gaze to Runaan. “Don’t think this changes anything, boy!” He snarled, gritting his teeth. “You still aren’t strong enough to defeat me!”

As Deimos panted wildly, Runaan cocked his head ever so slightly at his expression. His face was a mask of anger and desperate authority, but his eyes… in those dusty depths, Runaan recognized the emotion that flashed just below the surface. Fear. Deimos had the face of a madman, but inside, he was afraid. Afraid of Runaan.

All at once, Runaan’s focus sharpened. He narrowed his eyes, and with resolve giving strength to his limbs, he ground his feet into the sand and threw Deimos backwards.

“I think you’re mistaken,” Runaan murmured as Deimos struggled to maintain his balance. “I wasn’t strong enough before. You put chains on my hands and told me to fight with them, while your hands were free. I’ve been fighting with manacles on my wrists for a long time.” Runaan, his veins flowing with adrenaline, locked eyes with Deimos’.

“But now,” Runaan’s feet spread into an attacking stance as he brandished his sword, “I’ve been set free.”

The two elves faced off for one moment longer, before charging back into battle.

Runaan and Deimos traded blows faster than they had ever have before. It was an intense, hypnotic dance of flashing metal and scratched ringing as the swords slammed into each other in furious slashes and parries. Tiadrin, Lain, and Ethari watched from the sidelines, hearts pounding as they became enraptured by the skill and grace of the fight. Ethari had both hands around his scarf, clenching it as if it were choking him. Tiadrin and Lain grasped each other’s hands, holding tightly as they watched their closest friend battle his opponent.

As the fight wore on, and blow after blow was parried and thrown, Runaan’s lips curled in a grin. No longer did each strike send unnatural sensations up the bones in his wrist. After each parry, Runaan’s hand moved swiftly to launch another attack. Deimos’ gaze grew more and more alarmed as Runaan’s attacks got quicker and quicker by the second, and he struggled to keep up with his speed. Then, after an agonizing moment of slashing and jabbing, Deimos was forced to take a step back.

Runaan’s eyes flashed. A new confidence filled his nerves as he kept up his attacks, now turning fully on the offensive as he forced Deimos to retreat another step.

Then another. 

And another.

The fear in Deimos’ eyes only became stronger. He breathed heavily as he used all of his abilities just to keep up with Runaan’s attacks. Runaan, seeing his opponent was weakening, immediately began searching for an opening.

‘ _Focus on your every move, as well as the moves of your opponent._ ’ Runaan had long since memorized Deimos’ attack patterns. Before their swords hit, he was already predicting the next one. ‘ _Wait for the perfect opening._ ’ Runaan exhaled sharply as he swiped his sword hard against Deimos’. His eyes flashed as Deimos stumbled backward, opening his guard wide open.

‘ _Then, without hesitation,_ ’ Runaan’s mind chanted the mantra as he raised his sword, baring his teeth, ‘ _strike with all of your power._ ’

Yelling with all the fury he possessed, Runaan slashed at Deimos’ blade with all the strength he had. Deimos’ weapon went flying across the training field, tumbling and clattering to the ground. Deimos fell backwards, the air rushing out of his chest as he hit the sand. Without sparing a single moment, Runaan planted his foot on Deimos’ wrist and brought the tip of his sword forward until it rested against his throat.

There he stood. He panted slowly, his chest heaving as he pressed the tip of his sword against Deimos’ skin. His eyes bore into Deimos’, staring into the depths of fear within his gray irises. Deimos’ eyes were wide and unbelieving as Runaan stood over him, his weapon pointed at his throat.

One move. One move made the difference between life and death. But this time, the decision wasn’t Deimos’. It was Runaan’s.

“You… you wouldn’t dare,” Deimos’ voice shook. Runaan’s eyes narrowed. Though Deimos was desperately trying to hide behind his mask of authority, his voice was not the voice of someone with cold certainty. His voice was that of a terrified man, who knew his life rested on another’s choice.

“You’re right.” Runaan finally spoke. “I won’t.” After one final heartbeat, he lifted his sword from Deimos’ neck. “Because I’m not a coward, like you.”

Runaan stepped back as Deimos rolled onto his hands and knees, rubbing his neck and eyeing Runaan venomously. Runaan met his glare evenly, but he allowed his weary shoulders and arms to relax. Runaan knew Deimos understood that he had been beaten. He would not attempt to continue the fight. Because he knew, if he even tried to retrieve his sword from where it lay across the field, he would be back on the ground with Runaan’s sword at his throat once more.

“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?” A voice suddenly resounded from the edge of the training field. All five elves turned to see Lady Luna running down to the field, her flowing robes billowing out behind her. She was followed by several other Moonshadow elves, who gasped as they beheld the sight before them. Instinctively, Tiadrin, Lain, and Ethari immediately ran to their friend’s side. Runaan spared a glance at Ethari. Ethari met his eyes, a whirlwind of emotions in his gaze. Runaan pressed his lips together, then nodded to him, assuring him he was alright. 

Luna’s assessing gaze surveyed the elves in the field, drawing in a sharp breath when her eyes found the cut on Runaan’s cheek. Her gaze then flicked to Deimos, who had stood up, holding his side.

“What is this?!” She questioned the elves. “What has happened here?!”

“Swordsmanship training, my lady.” Deimos quickly answered before any of the four could speak. All of their heads whipped around, staring at him. His mask of cool authority was back on his face, and he stood tall and dignified. “It got a little out of hand. My apologies.”

Runaan stared disbelievingly at him. Deimos met his eyes, his gray irises flashing, as if in warning. Runaan realized what he was doing. He was playing off their ‘little fight’, as to try to get Runaan to play along, trying to lessen the trouble they were in. Runaan clenched his teeth angrily.

Luna didn’t fall for Deimos’ guise, either. “It doesn’t  _ look _ like normal swordsmanship training to me!” She gestured to Runaan. “He’s been wounded! That is  _ extremely _ bad for just ‘training’!” Her gaze moved to Ethari. “And what about him? He doesn’t train with you, anymore!”

“He was making sure Runaan’s new sword was in proper condition, my lady, that’s all.” Runaan wanted to gag at the fakeness of Deimos’ voice. Ethari, too, faced Deimos, taken aback.

Lady Luna’s gaze hardened. Her silver eyes searched the faces of the elves before her. Behind her, the other villagers gathered, speaking in hushed, uneasy tones as Luna stared at the elves.

“Runaan,” She spoke after a minute of thought. “What really happened here?”

Runaan blinked. Despite how skeptical Luna clearly was about Deimos’ words, he was shocked that she turned to him for his side of the story. Luna had known Deimos for years, and though they were not friends, they had mutual respect for each other. Runaan’s brow furrowed as he glanced at Tiadrin.

Tiadrin met his gaze. After a moment, she nodded ever so slightly. Runaan looked at Lain. Lain locked eyes with him, resolve covering his face. Finally, Runaan glanced back to Deimos.

Deimos pursed his lips as Runaan looked at him. He looked back almost daringly, his dust gray eyes unreadable. For a moment, Runaan was unsure. He didn’t know what to do.

Then, he remembered Ethari looking at him, heartbreak in his eyes after the fire that had destroyed his forge was smothered by the rain. He remembered the empty hollowness in his eyes as he told Runaan he was fine, when in reality, he was so, so hurt inside. He remembered Ethari sobbing onto his shoulder in the middle of the night, because the last memory of his family had been taken from him forever.

Runaan pressed his lips into a thin line, resolution in his eyes. He knew what he had to do. It was now or never.

“It’s true we were swordfighting here,” Runaan spoke loud enough for everyone to hear. The elves hushed as they listened to his words. “But we were not training. I was confronting him. Because I discovered the truth.”

Deimos’ eyes widened as Runaan stepped forward, in the view of all the villagers of the Silvergrove. “The fire that burned down the forge of the Master Craftsman… it was no accident!”

The elves gasped loudly. Luna’s silver eyes widened, her mouth falling open. Ethari looked like he had just been struck. He inhaled sharply when Runaan’s words sank in.

“The fire was purposefully set alight that night,” Runaan continued. “And the person who committed that horrible crime…” Runaan raised his arm, and with almost agonizing slowness, pointed at Deimos, whose eyes widened as Runaan glared at him savagely, “was Deimos.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last cliffhanger for a while, I promise :)


	9. An End, and a Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For my readers in Texas, y'all alright? I had a few friends who had reptiles who passed away b/c of the power outages and lack of heat. If something similar happened to any of y'all, my love and condolences to you. Stay warm, my yeehaw buddies!

The elves stood in silence. Many of their mouths were open in horror and shock, staring disbelievingly at Runaan as he pointed to Deimos. The only sounds that could be heard was the calling of the songbirds, who carried about their days, uncaring of the bombshell that was dropped onto the elves of the Silvergrove.

Deimos’ eyes were wide. He stared at Runaan, who met his eyes squarely, his jaw set. Deimos’ gaze flicking back and forth. Between the hardened gazes of Tiadrin and Lain, the stunned gaze of Lady Luna, and…

As soon as Deimos found  _ his _ eyes, he quickly looked away. The emotion boiling behind Ethari’s brown irises was incomprehensible.

The silence was suffocating. Then, as if breaking a spell, Deimos’ posture suddenly relaxed.

Deimos exhaled a breathy laugh. “Are you serious? Are you  _ serious _ ?” He laughed again, the ugly sound making Runaaan’s skin crawl. “In what part of your head did you even think I could do such a thing?” 

A shadow passed over Runaan’s eyes. He glared hatefully at Deimos. “Don’t even try to deny it. I know what you have done.”

Deimos’ gaze grew serious. He held his chin high, crossing his arms. “I have done no such thing.” There was a cold fury in his gray eyes. “You’re demented to think that I would ever commit such a crime.”

Runaan bared his teeth. “I’m not!” He snarled, “you claim innocence, but you’re nothing but a liar and a coward! Think about it!” Runaan faced away from Deimos to the rest of the elves gathered in the field. “Is there anyone here who saw Deimos attending the Blue Moon Festival?”

Stunned, the elves looked back and forth between themselves. They muttered under their breath to each other in thought. Now that he had mentioned it…  _ was _ Deimos at the festival? As they tried to remember if they saw his face amongst the crowd, they found that none of them had seen Deimos that night.

“The Blue Moon Festival is one of the most important celebrations of our culture. No elf in the village would even think of not attending it without an excuse. Or,” Runaan’s eyes flashed, “a motive.”

Deimos scoffed. “You’re talking nothing but nonsense!” He insisted. “Yes, the Blue Moon Festival is an important celebration, but that does not mean it is criminal to miss it.”

“But isn’t it strange,” Runaan put out, “that the leader of the assassins, the chief swordsmanship instructor, one of the most important people in the village, was not at the festival? When in all of his other years, he was?”

Deimos’ lips pressed together. The other elves murmured nervously amongst themselves. What Runaan was saying was insane… but not untrue. Deimos was an important figure in the village, and he had spent years building his reputation for following the rules and traditions of the Silvergrove to the letter, since he first began his training.

So why was it that he didn’t attend the festival this year? 

“Your argument is sound, Runaan,” Luna reluctantly spoke, “it is… unorthodox for Deimos to have missed the festival…”

Deimos’ eyes widened in disbelief. “You can’t be serious!” He stepped forward. “With all due respect, my lady, these accusations are borderline raving mad!” He pointed a finger to Runaan. “He’s lost his mind if he seriously believes I could have burnt the forge down!”

“Then what were you doing that night that was of so much importance that you skipped the Blue Moon Festival, Deimos?” Tiadrin spoke up, her cyan eyes blazing. Deimos blinked at her, astounded, before curling his lip.

“I can tell you for certain, girl, that I was dealing with issues that needed to be resolved.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “It should be of no concern to you.”

It did not go unnoticed to Runaan how Deimos phrased the question. The way he spoke, almost blatantly saying what he had done between the lines, made Runaan want to flip into a violent rage. He stood rail-straight, his teeth clenched hard enough to snap bone. If looks could kill, Deimos would be dead on the ground in a puddle of his own boiling flesh.

“Deimos, you don’t get it.” Luna’s authoritative voice made Deimos’ mask of haughtiness fall from his face. “It is of  _ major  _ concern to  _ all  _ of us what you were doing the night of the blue moon. The crimes that you have been accused of are not impossible.”

Deimos frowned. “I have told you what I was doing.” He defended himself. “The accusations you speak of are false. Besides,” His gaze shifted to Runaan. Gray eyes boring into turquoise, Deimos’ mouth ticked in a smirk. “There is no possible way for you to prove  _ any _ of your so-called evidence.” 

“Actually,” a new, unfamiliar voice spoke from behind the gathered crowd, “there is.” 

The villagers all turned sharply towards the voice, and stepped aside as a figure weaved through the elves, stepping into the light. Deimos’ eyes widened, and Luna bowed in respect.

“Lujanne.” She greeted the mage. “It is good to see you.”

“Likewise, my lady.” The aging elf returned Luna’s bow. Her turquoise robes brushed over the grass, and her braids waved in the air as she lowered her head in respect. Straightening up, she cast a disdainful glance to Deimos. “Although, I wish the circumstances would have been better.”

“What are  _ you _ doing here?” Deimos no longer held his calm facade. His eyebrows pulled into an annoyed frown, but unease flashed in his eyes. “You should be guarding the Moon Nexus!”

Lujanne laughed brightly. “What, you think I can’t return to my home every once in a while? You always were so terrible!” She chuckled dryly. “Besides, the blue moon enriched me with some extra magic, so my illusions will hold for many days. I thought I would come and have a nice glass of moonberry moscato, maybe flirt around a bit, but apparently,” she lowered her eyes to his, her teal irises void of humor. “I must be the harbinger of justice.” 

Deimos visibly clenched his jaw, beads of sweat running down his head. “What, you think I burned down the forge as well?!” He exclaimed. “That’s ridiculous! You haven’t even set foot in the Silvergrove for years! You should have no say in this matter whatsoever!”

Lujanne tilted her head, her lips pursing. “True, true, I only got here yesterday. Phoe-Phoe was quite tired from the journey here, so I stayed with her. I only just learned of the destruction of the Master Craftsman’s forge this morning, and I followed the others here when commotion arose. Even without the accusation of burning the forge on your head, you’d still be in deep trouble for wounding a student during… what was it you called? ‘Training.’” She shook her head in disappointment. Deimos swallowed harshly when she met his gaze again. 

“However,” she continued, “that wasn’t the justice I had in mind.”

“What are you proposing, Lujanne?” Luna inquired. Chuckling, the moon mage gave Deimos a hard stare.

“There is only one way to know how the fire started,” She stated, “and only one way to prove your innocence, Deimos.” Her teal irises flashed. “A  _ living history _ spell.”

All the elves of the crowd gasped. Runaan’s eyes widened in surprise. Tiadrin and Lain looked at each other in disbelief. 

Deimos’ expression dropped. “A… a living history spell, you say?” He said.

“Indeed.” Lujaane smiled. “It’s quite a simple spell, really. And with the residual magic of the blue moon, it would be almost effortless to cast. And it will, without a doubt, show us what happened.”

Luna put a thoughtful finger to her chin. “You… are right.” She hummed. “This is the best possible way to find out the truth. Magic does not lie.”

Beside her, Runaan’s mind was racing. Not even ten minutes ago, he was trying to desperately rake together what little evidence he had against Deimos, and speak it in a way that made it impossible for him to deny. He had no witnesses, or any physical evidence. But a living history spell… a spell that reveals the exact moments of the past…

It sealed his fate.

Deimos cleared his throat raggedly. “That seems unnecessary, my lady.” He crossed his arms, the mask of annoyance back on his face. “Such a spell for this trivial of an accusation is ridiculous-”

“On the contrary,” Luna interrupted him, straightening the hems of her sleeves, “it is a most necessary course of action.”

Deimos spluttered incoherently. “Wh-what?! Why?”

Luna narrowed her eyes at his tone. She exchanged a glance with Runaan. She saw that he, too, found Deimos’ reluctance extremely suspicious. They weren’t the only ones, either. The villagers whispered to each other, eyeing Deimos with apprehension and doubt.

“Because these accusations are too great to ignore.” Luna answered him, lifting her chin as she folded her hands elegantly in front of her lap. “Runaan has put forth compelling evidence against you. You do not have an alibi that any of the others can confirm. A living history spell is the only way to see the events that transpired on the night of the blue moon.”

“Besides,” Lujanne added, “if you are innocent as you claim, Deimos, then there is nothing you have to fear.” Lujanne narrowed her eyes. “In fact, you should be happy I am performing this spell. It would save you. Why are you not?”

Deimos was silent. His mouth quivered like he was wrestling his voice.

“Is there a reason, Deimos, you don’t want us to see?”

More silence. Deimos’ jaw was hard set, and he clenched his hands into fists behind his back. He kept his gaze on Lujanne and Luna, but he could feel the burning brown gaze of Ethari boring into his soul. All the eyes on him felt as if his skin was being stripped away. He pressed his lips into a thin line.

“I didn’t think so.” Lujanne huffed. She twirled gracefully around and began to make her way to the hill where Ethari’s forge once stood. “Come now, everyone,” she clapped her hands, beckoning the rest of the villagers to follow her. “Let us be off.”

“Wait, the other elves here don’t need to be present,” Deimos protested, jogging to catch up with Luna, who held her robes as she made her way uphill. “This isn’t right.”

“You’re right,” She agreed. “In a proper trial, all of the villagers are present, as well as all members of the Council.” She turned her sharp silver gaze to his. “Shall I go gather everyone else?”

Deimos’ mouth shut. Muttering an inaudible ‘no, my lady, that won’t be necessary,’ he focused his gaze to forward on Lujanne’s white hair. Tiadrin had to cover her mouth to suppress a snicker, and Lain ran a hand through his hair, inhaling through his teeth.

As they walked towards Ethari’s forge, Runaan fell in step with Ethari, glancing at him worriedly. Ethari was quiet, looking at the road as they walked, a subdued, conflicted expression on his face. Runaan bit his lip. He couldn’t imagine the thoughts that were running through his head right now.

“Hey,” Runaan whispered to him. “You okay?”

“No,” Ethari shook his head. “No, I’m not.” His face held a thousand emotions, none of them good. Runaan’s heart twisted in sympathy. He opened his mouth to try to console him, but shut it when he realized there were no words that would bring peace to Ethari right now. Runaan pressed his lips together in frustration. He wanted to do  _ something _ !

Suddenly, he remembered a piece of a story he had been reading.

_ I knew Ash couldn’t be comforted. He had just received the terrible news that his only family was dead. There was nothing on earth that could make him better. I knew the feeling. However, I could give him something that I didn’t have: support. Sometimes, just the presence of someone you care about with you, being the rock that helps you stand, is the greatest comfort of all. _

Runaan glanced downward to Ethari’s hand. Snapping his gaze forward, taking a deep breath, he slipped his hand into Ethari’s.

For a moment, Ethari’s pace faltered. His arm twitched at the unexpected contact, and his brown eyes momentarily flicked to Runaan’s face. Runaan glanced back, a look of comfort and support in his turquoise eyes. Ethari, for one more heartbeat, was unsure.

Then, his fingers tightened around Runaan’s. Runaan gave his hand a squeeze. ‘ _ I’m here with you _ .’ The silent gesture spoke where words could not. 

The elves soon arrived at the stone stairway that led to the forge. Lujanne in the lead, they climbed the steps, an atmosphere of foreboding around them. Ethari held Runaan’s hand tighter. Runaan held back.

Soon, the elves emerged onto the area of flat land where the rest of Ethari’s home stood. All of the scorched debris had been removed, but the air still smelled of ash and rain. Lady Luna, Runaan, Ethari, and Deimos all stepped to the front of the line as Lujanne examined the blackened ground where the forge once stood.

“Is this the general area of the main forge?” Lujanne asked Ethari, gesturing to the back of the burnt ground.

“Yes.” Ethari's voice was thick. “The back was where it was.”

Lujanne hummed in acknowledgement. She folded her hands as Luna stepped forward, clearing her throat and raising her hands to her subjects.

“My people,” Her voice was loud and clear, “we are about to witness what happened on the night of the full moon. Lujanne is going to perform the spell. Once it is complete, and we know the truth, we will decide how to move forward from there. Is this acceptable to you?”

The Moonshadow elves called out in agreement with a chorus of ‘yes’s. Folding her hands behind her back, grim resolution heavy in her heart, Luna nodded to Lujanne, signalling to her to begin the spell.

The elves watched as Lujanne stepped towards where the forge once was. Deimos crossed his arms, a bead of sweat tracing his cheekbone. He wiped it away like he was swatting at a gnat. Runaan felt Ethari remove his hand from his grasp. He quickly glanced to see Ethari clutch his scarf, his eyebrows tightly knit together. Runaan shuffled closer until their shoulders were almost brushing, assuring Ethari he was still there. Hardening his heart, he turned his gaze back to Lujanne as she raised her arm, two of her fingers glowing with a white-silver light.

“ _ Historia Viventem _ .” Drawing the glowing silver-white symbol in front of her, she waved her hand and activated the spell.

For a moment, nothing happened. The air was still as the elves waited with bated breath.

Then, swirling clouds of light grew up from the ground, forming the shimmering ghost of Ethari’s forge. Runaan bit his lip as he saw Ethari’s expression become pained as the shadows of the past reminded him of what he had lost. As the magic fully took hold, the distant echo of the faraway festival could be heard. As the spell wore on, Runaan kept throwing glances at Deimos. Although the elf still held his usual mask of displeasure, he could see the fear in his eyes, brighter than ever before. 

Suddenly, a spector appeared behind the crowd. Ethari’s eyes widened in foreboding. Unconsciously, he reached down and grasped Runaan’s hand. Runaan blinked at the gesture, but instead of pulling back, he held his hand in a firm, steady grip. As the figure walked through the Moonshadow elves, it pulled down the star-woven hood that was covering its face. All the elves gasped as the person’s identity was revealed.

Runaan’s heart flooded with rage. “ _ I knew it _ .”

The spectral Deimos walked with grim purpose through the halls of Ethari’s forge, passing by the rooms until he reached the end, where Ethari’s main forge was. Runaan sucked in a breath when the spectra reached within his clothing and produced a bottle of liquid. Pulling off the stopper with one quick motion, he poured the liquid onto the floor of the forge, covering almost the entire back hall. After the bottle had emptied, spectral Deimos flicked his hand, which held a tiny flame on a wooden match. 

He paused. Holding the tiny flicker of fire, just waiting to set it loose to consume the place Ethari held most dear. After waiting one heartbeat longer, he finally let the match fall.

Instantly, the liquid exploded into flame. From the magic, the fire appeared white, and it climbed hungrily at the wood that made Ethari’s home, quickly ascending up the walls and burning through the ceiling. The spectral Deimos watched the flames, transfixed, before turning around and fleeing the fire, running through the shell-shocked elves, before disappearing. As the living history spell finally faded away into nothing, it left behind the reality of Ethari’s burned forge, and the truth of what happened during the blue moon.

All eyes turned to Deimos. He no longer held what little composure he had. He was taking steps back, his mouth moving incoherently, glancing back and forth between the elves of the Silvergrove. When he met the brown eyes of Ethari, he flinched.

Ethari’s face was a porcelain mask. Completely and utterly blank… except for his eyes. They burned in twin infernos of… he couldn’t even tell. Anger, shock, betrayal, it didn’t matter. They burned and burned and burned. The turquoise irises of Runaan’s held a hateful finality. In a heartbeat, Deimos’ soul plummeted. It was the look of grim victory.

“The truth has been revealed,” Luna’s voice was like a knife made of crystal. She turned her silver eyes to Deimos, her gaze piercing. “The accusations were true.”

Deimos’ mouth moved, but no sound came out. His eyes flicked back and forth between the shocked and angered faces of the elves that were gathered on the hilltop. His mask was gone. The only expression on his face was pure and absolute terror.

“I…” He stuttered, “I…”

“You intentionally set fire to Ethari’s forge,” Luna continued, advancing on Deimos, “the forge of the Master Craftsman, the most important forge in the Silvergrove. You destroyed his tools, month’s worth of his work, and the forge that Jormun and Chila dedicated their entire lives to building and maintaining for the good of all the elves in the Silvergrove.”

Deimos swallowed harshly. His gray eyes flicked from the furious face of Luna, to the tired disappointment of Lujanne, to the hate of Runaan. Ethari had lowered his head, his face hidden behind his hair.

“Deimos…” Luna’s expression, for a heartbeat, gained a deep, deep hurt. “Why? Why would you do this?”

Deimos stopped moving. He stared at Luna, the conflict on his face almost pitiful. He shook his head helplessly, the only sound he made being the crunch of dirt beneath his feet.

“I… I didn’t… I just…” 

“He blamed him.”

Luna’s gaze turned to Runaan. His eyes were staring at something she could not see. 

“What?” She whispered.

“Deimos used to train Ethari.” Runaan spoke loud enough for all to hear. “He wanted Ethari to become a ruthless killer, like he was. But Ethari didn’t want that. He wanted to take up the forge. So he left his training.” Runaan turned a scathing glare to Deimos. “He didn’t appreciate it.”

Luna’s eyes widened. “No…”

“When I commissioned Ethari to remake my sword so it would better suit me, Deimos believed that Ethari was making me weak.” Runaan continued, closing his eyes when the other elves made sounds of angered disbelief. “Because I was no longer acting like the version of me he created. Because I wasn’t a destiny-focused idealist.”

Runaan looked back to Ethari. “Because… Ethari made me realize that there's more to life than your destiny.”

Ethari glanced up to Runaan, staring at him through his hair. He blinked, his brown irises filled with wonder. Runaan held his gaze for a moment, almost smiling, before turning back to Deimos, his face once again bearing a hard glare.

“ ‘ _ I must uphold my duty, for the good of the Silvergrove _ ’. Isn’t that right?” Runaan asked him. “Traitor?”

Deimos sucked a breath. He stared in horror as the elves began to toss around the word. “ _ Traitor. Traitor. Traitor. Traitor. _ ” Their voices mingled in a chorus of shouting, their anger finally taking root and growing as Deimos stepped back again.

“You do not deny it.” Luna’s voice was stone. Her hands clenched into fists. Cold fury radiated from her entire being. “Of all the reasons… of all the things you’ve done… and you justify it  _ for the good of the Silvergrove?! _ ” Her silver eyes exploded with rage. “In what way or manner was burning down the most important forge in the Silvergrove good?! You set us back months because the work of our Master Craftsman was destroyed, all because your idealistic paranoia led you to believe that  _ AN ASSASSIN CANNOT HAVE ANY PURPOSE OTHER THAN KILLING?! _ ”

The elves yelled in a furious uproar at Luna’s cry. Deimos’ backbone finally broke. In terror, he whipped around in an attempt to flee the crowd.

Unfortunately, he was never going to get far.

A giant feline creature stood in Deimos’ path. It’s pure white teeth and pink gums were exposed as it snarled savagely in his face. Deimos barely had the time to scream in surprise before the creature lifted one of its giant paws and slammed Deimos on the ground, pinning him down. Deimos struggled in vain against the great beast, who roared loudly, silencing the elves. The creature’s snow-white fur was thick and ruffled, burned away in some places. Its tail lashed about angrily, and its metallic eyes stared at Deimos without pity.

“What-” He coughed harshly as the feline pressed down on his back, forcing his chest to collapse. “What is this thing?!”

“ _ That thing _ ,” Luna stated, moving towards him as the rest of the elves stared open-mouthed at the beast, “was almost a casualty of your crime. You don’t have the right to speak of her like that.” Luna met the creature’s eyes. Her gaze softened just a little when the feline stared back, silver meeting silver. “It’s good to see you’ve recovered… Selena, was it?”

The big cat growled in reply, shaking out her fur, her large ears swiveling forward. She closed her eyes and purred as Luna pet her head.

Deimos craned his neck, staring at the creature in disbelief. “This thing is-?! But how-?!”

“A little known fact about werecats,” Luna mentioned, ruffling Selena’s fur, “they actually have three forms, as opposed to only two. One is the small, elven form they’re known for. Another is about the size of a normal Xadian cat. And the third…” Luna looked down upon Deimos, “the third is the form you see now. Only achievable when the moon is full or mostly full. It’s quite rare to see.” Selena huffed, her long whiskers twitching in amusement. 

“Bring him to the middle of the crowd, would you?” Luna asked the werecat. Selena growled in reply, then swiftly bent her head down and seized Deimos by the back of his robes. Shaking him harshly to deter him from escaping, she followed Luna to the edge of the crowd of elves, who backed away as Selena dropped Deimos onto the ground, licking her teeth.

Snarling one last time, she turned around and bounded to Ethari, who stood in quiet awe as she, as smooth as water, morphed into her elven form. She rounded him until she was standing behind him, holding his arm as she stared at Deimos, who struggled to his hands and knees. As he threw one last, disbelieving glance at the werecat, she bared her teeth and hissed, her ears flattening against the sides of her head.

“There there,” Ethari hushed her, scratching her head. “I’m glad you’re okay, Selena.” Selena purred, smiling, before rubbing her face against Ethari’s arm affectionately. Runaan sighed, inwardly happy that the werecat had finally recovered.

“Deimos of the Silvergrove,” Luna’s voice drew the two elve’s attention back to the crowd. “As head of the Silvergrove Council, leader of all the elves in the Silvergrove, I declare you guilty of the destruction of the forge of the Master Craftsman.”

Deimos’ face held nothing but pure terror as two Moonshadow elves surged from the crowd and seized his hands, securing them roughly behind his back. 

“The punishment for the crimes you have committed, both spoken and unspoken…” Her silver eyes locked on Deimos’ gray ones, finality boring into horror. “Shall be the most severe we can bestow.”

“Deimos,” Lady Luna’s words echoed across the Silvergrove, “I sentence you to banishment. Forever.” 

* * *

“Hey,” Runaan sat down next to Ethari on the edge of the cliff that lay by Ethari’s home, overlooking the village. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know.” He answered, sighing heavily. “It’s- it’s just all so…” He gestured with his hands, indicating the events that had just rocked the whole of the Silvergrove to its core. 

“Yeah…” Runaan sighed.

“I’m angry, I’m hurt, I’m glad that Deimos got what was coming to him, but…” Ethari rested his head in his hands, “in a way, I was almost hoping that he didn’t do it. It would have been easier if the fire really was just a terrible accident.”

The other elves, after subduing Deimos, went to his house and searched it. They found more of the flammable liquid, which turned out to be napalm, a forbidden liquid, as it was a danger to the forests that the Moonshadow elves called home. It only sealed his fate further. After consulting the other members of the Council, informing them of his crimes, the punishment for Deimos’ crime was unanimous.

He had become ghosted, forever banished from the Silvergrove and all who resided in it.

“And to become a ghost…” Ethari whispered, barely loudly enough for Runaan to hear, “to be banished from your home and your people forever…” He shook his head, sighing. “I can’t imagine what that would feel like.”

Runaan was silent. In all honesty, after what Deimos had done to Ethari, Runaan felt no sympathy for him. He was cruel and selfish, forcing his own ideas on others, going as far as to burn down Ethari’s forge to try to get his way… it was unspeakable. In a way, Runaan was pleased to see him banished.

But for Ethari, it was different. Ethari saw good in everything, and was forgiving to a fault. He believed in second chances. He may have also wanted Deimos to be punished, but if it were his choice, Runaan was almost certain that he would not have chosen ghosting. 

“But enough about me,” Ethari turned to Runaan. “Are  _ you  _ okay? That cut looks deep.”

“It’s only a scratch, really. I’ve been hurt worse.” Runaan assured him. Remarkably, it was true. The cut had stopped bleeding a good while ago, and the strong stinging pain had been reduced to a slight, almost unnoticeable ebb. With the experience Runaan had with cuts and scratches, he knew it would be very unlikely to scar.

Ethari searched Runaan’s face, before nodding. “If you say so. I trust you.”

Runaan’s mouth opened a little, before he shut it. “O-oh. Thank you…” Blushing, he looked down to his sand-scuffed boots. “Don’t worry, I’ll stop by the healer’s tree later and get it patched up.”

Despite himself, Ethari chuckled. “You better.” Runaan’s mouth ticked in a smile as he looked back over the Silvergrove, blush feathering his cheeks.

“ _ So… what happens now _ ?” Runaan wondered. Deimos was out of the picture, forever. He had his sword, which was resting snugly on his back. Selena was back in Ethari’s care, napping peacefully in her werecat bed. After all that had happened, after achieving the goals he had set… 

What should he do now?

He glanced back to Ethari. Ethari, with his perfectly messy hair, purple scarf, and soft, warm brown eyes. Ethari, with all of his strengths and all of his flaws. Ethari, who had suffered so much, and still looked at tomorrow with hope in his eyes. Who could still laugh and teasingly threaten Runaan to make sure he took care of himself. Who still, even after days and days of knowing him, still made Runaan’s heart flutter.

Runaan swallowed, his turquoise irises filling with resolve. 

There was only one thing left to do. 

“I read  _ Phoenix Fires _ , by the way.” Runaan mentioned. He clasped his hands, making circles with his thumbs. “I finished the last book this morning.”

Ethari glanced at him, a hint of surprise on his face. “You did?”

“Yeah.” Runaan nodded. “It… it wasn’t half bad.” 

“ _Say what you really mean, Runaan,_ ” Lain’s words echoed in his head. “ _Show him how you really feel._ ” 

“Actually, it was… really good.” He admitted.

Ethari blinked at him, smiling a little. Even though there were dark circles under his eyes, and he was so physically, mentally, and emotionally drained, his smile was still so beautiful. “You really liked it?”

“Yeah.” Runaan breathed deeply. The air still smelled like damp ash. However, the scent was slowly being carried away on the wind, replaced by the forestry smells of pine and rain. 

“I’m normally not into sappy love stories.” Runaan continued. “Too many of those couples in their romance novels could have solved literally  _ all _ their problems with simple communication.”

Ethari chuckled. “Good point. It does get kinda repetitive after a while.”

“But, the thing with Furea is… he reminds me of myself.” Runaan stopped twiddling his thumbs. “He focuses on becoming what he wants to be, but he conformed too much with other people’s visions of what  _ they _ wanted him to be. He was the white phoenix, the prophesied savior of the world. He was so set on the big picture, he didn’t notice how all of the other people were changing the details.”

Ethari nodded, his expression becoming sad. He knew firsthand how much Deimos’ crazy ideals and expectations hurt, but it was different for Runaan. Runaan wasn’t even aware of the pain he was going through until he figured out Deimos was the one who set the forge alight. When he had been betrayed by his teacher, all of the meticulous and thorough damage Deimos had dealt to the young assassin all came to light. All the scars from the cuts he received after being ‘too slow’ during training. The endless hours of practicing, studying, and lectures. How Deimos had ingrained the hate of feelings so deep in Runaan’s psyche, it would live with him for the rest of his life.

Ethari shivered, the cold glare of gray eyes resting on his neck. He could almost feel Deimos watching them. He was certain that he had not left after his ghosting, and was haunting them. The shadows and pain he had left over both of the boys would remain for a while, but at least, he was no longer able to add to the damages.

“Also…” Runaan bit his lip, facing away from Ethari. “The way he fell in love was… was more realistic than anything else I’ve ever read.”

Ethari smiled, raising an eyebrow teasingly. “Oh yeah?”

Runaan nodded, blushing. “It wasn’t love at first sight. They spent weeks together, getting to know each other, becoming friends before Furea realized he was in love with him.”

Ethari nodded in agreement.

“Ash wasn’t at all put off by Furea’s position as the white phoenix. He treated him the same way he would treat any one of his friends. He was up front, compassionate, and he saw past Furea’s walls. Furea deeply appreciated that.”

“Yeah, that was a nice touch-”

“And when Furea realized he was in love with Ash, he became awkward and confused, like any real person would. His nervousness nearly ruined the festival they were attending, but Ash simply continued to be himself and helped put Furea’s mind at ease enough for him to actually enjoy the festival.”

Ethari’s eyebrows knit together. “Wait, there wasn’t a festival in the third book-”

“And even when it all went downward,” Runaan forged onward, refusing to stop now, “even when Ash had the only remnants of his family burned to ashes, even when Furea discovered that someone he had trusted had betrayed them, he still stuck by Furea’s side. He gave Furea the weapon he needed in order to finally defeat the traitor who had controlled his life for so long. He… He…” Runaan breathed deeply, then let it out. 

“He set him free. He opened his mind, and… he set his heart free.”

Runaan exhaled. For so long, he had yearned to say those words. The feelings he had kept bottled up for so long finally poured out, leaving him feeling lighter. He had been adverse to his own emotions since as long as he could remember, but as he let them go, he felt so, so much better.

Ethari’s eyes were wide. His mouth hung open as Runaan slowly met his gaze. All of a sudden, his thoughts of what had happened to him were gone. The only thing he could see was Runaan’s beautiful turquoise eyes as he looked at him. Gone was the assassin that Deimos had tried to create. Now, he was just… Runaan.

“You…” Ethari’s voice was softer than a butterfly’s wing. “You…”

Runaan pressed his lips together, then nodded. “Yeah…” To Ethari’s awe, he chuckled to himself. “Ever since we met, you’ve been… different to me. You talk to me like I’m just me, not the elf destined to be a hardened assassin. You make me feel like… like my life could me more than what people expect of me. You make me feel so…” He waved his hands, trying to express his emotions that words could never describe. He sighed. “No one ever made me feel the way you make me feel.”

Ethari stared at Runaan, speechless. Runaan curled and uncurled his fingers as the quiet between them stretched further and further. The setting sun cast an orange and pink light across the Silvergrove, the warm colors dancing in Ethari’s brown eyes.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Ethari brought a hand to his mouth. For the first time in a long time, he smiled widely behind his fingers. His cheeks flowered pink, and he laughed breathlessly.

“ _ Really _ ?” He asked in wonder. It was almost too good to be true.

Runaan’s lips pulled into a smile. “Yeah… I like you.”

Ethari felt his heart sing. He covered his mouth, laughing breathily. “I… me too! I feel the same!”

Runaan’s eyes widened. A smile spread across his face. “You… you do?!”

Ethari nodded vigorously. “Yes! Yes, I do!” He laughed brightly, Runaan’s heart soaring at the beautiful sound. “You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to tell you!”

“And I you!” Runaan joined in the laughter. The birds in the trees burst into song, and the flowers bloomed, looking up towards the twilight sky. Even the earth seemed richer and more vibrant than ever before. It seemed the whole world was alive. 

Slowly, the two elves ceased their laughter. They fell into a calm silence, smiles on their faces. Runaan had never felt happier in his life. Ethari felt the same. They gazed down to the village they called home, watching as the lights bloomed into being within each of the houses, and the elves went about their way. It was the first time they watched their home from the cliffside, and it would not be the last.

“So…” Ethari spoke after a while, “you and I… we’re…”

“Yeah…” Runaan whispered. Slowly, he slid his hand over Ethari’s, intertwining their fingers. “We’re… together.”

The two elves met each other’s eyes. Warm, almost amber brown met cool, ocean turquoise. Though no words were spoken, they shared so much through just their eyes. Ethari brushed his hair from his face, smiling happily. Runaan’s eyes followed Ethari’s hair as it fell right back into its place.

He moved. His mind no longer controlled his actions. Reaching up, Runaan lifted the hair and tucked it gently behind his ear. Ethari breathed as Runaan’s hand lingered, cupping his face. The two of them gazed into each other’s eyes. Their hearts beat in their chests as Runaan held Ethari. 

Slowly, the two leaned together. They could almost feel the pulse of each other’s hearts. The world around them faded away, until only just the two of them remained. Nothing hung between them. 

Closing their eyes, they closed the distance between them. Tilting their heads, breath mixing together as their lips met for the very first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *inhales*
> 
> FINALLY
> 
> Is the fic over, though? NOPE! See you next week!


	10. Deimos' Story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every story needs a villain, and every villain has a story...

_ Twenty-Four Years Ago… _

“Hey! Hey Deimos, wait up! I know you can hear me!”

Deimos, however, only continued walking, rolling his eyes in annoyance. He only got a few steps farther, however, before he felt the owner of the voice jump onto his back, wrapping her arms around his head, effectively blinding him.

“Arg, Zira, get off me!” He yelled, spinning around, trying to shake her off in vain. She only tightened her grip on him.

“This is what you get for being so rude! There are consequences to your actions, you know!” She laughed as Deimos pulled at her unrelenting hands. “You get what you deserve, Dreary!”

Deimos finally secured a grip underneath her arms. With a grunt, he heaved her forward off his back. Zira, not missing a beat, flipped and landed neatly on her feet, folding her arms behind her back with a smug smile.

“I  _ told  _ you to stop calling me that!” Deimos snapped at her, straightening his navy-gray robes indignantly.

“And  _ I _ told you to wait for me!” Zira fired back, hands on her hips. “And as long as the boot fits, the name sticks. That’s the way it works.”

Deimos heaved a great, tired sigh. Zira blinked at him, feeling just a bit guilty. She lightly punched his shoulder.

“Hey, man, if it really bothers you, I’ll stop.” She apologized.

Deimos raised a brow at her. “Will you really?”

“... No, probably not.”

Deimos rolled his eyes again, and he resumed his walking. Zira fell in step beside him, humming lightly as she walked. 

The two elves fell into a comfortable silence as they made their way through the Silvergrove, spending their free time in the marketplace before the bells summoned them to the dining hall for dinner. Browsing through the shops filled with wooden trinkets and silken robes, they slowly made their way around. Deimos, as usual, had nothing to look for in particular. As an assassin-in-training, he hardly ever needed worldly possessions. Or even  _ wanted _ them, for that matter.

Zira, however, was on a mission. Her brown eyes flicked to and fro, observing everything displayed outside the shops. She pursed her lips in concentration, a frown creasing her forehead. She suddenly stopped when her gaze landed in one of the open shops.

“Ooooo, Deimos, look at this!” Deimos turned to see Zira dash to the shop, holding out a set of long, elegant, brown and navy robes. The bottom of the silk was trimmed with intricate amber lace, as were the ends of the long sleeves. On the hanger that it was hung from, two sets of spun metal, meant for putting up hair, were tied on the robes.

“It’s my size, too!” Zira gushed, reading the information on a small piece of fabric that was pinned to the robes. “It would fit perfectly! Oh, isn’t it lovely, Deimos?”

Deimos looked the robes up and down. It  _ was _ lovely, he guessed… but… 

“Why do you want that?” Deimos asked her. Zira was an assassin. She couldn’t fight in such attire.

Zira gave Deimos a look. “Um, because it’s perfect? And it’s the only robe set I’ve found and liked that’s my size?”

“And the Blue Moon festival is approaching,” the shopkeeper mentioned, coming around to where the two were standing on the other side of the desk. He gave Zira a warm smile. “You would look stunning in this robe set, my dear. The amber trim brings out your eyes.”

Zira smiled at the flattery. “Aww, you really think so? Thank you!” She looked back at the robes one last time, before nodding her head sharply. “I’ll take them. How much do I owe you?”

As the two of them discussed the price of the robe set, Deimos yawned. His gaze wandered to the other shops out of boredom. Same old fruit stand, with bluebell planters hung over the door and under the open windows. The woman that owned the store was talking with another woman while she rocked her newborn baby to sleep. His eyes found the woodworker’s store. The large tree it was built into boasted many wooden carvings, from birchwood birds to oaken three-tailed squirrels that scurried across the tree.

Deimos’ ears suddenly pricked at the sound of nearby laughter. Turning, his hand resting on his sword sheath, he located the source of the voices, and his thoughts stopped.

There. Among the group of boys, who were laughing among themselves, was  _ him _ . 

To Deimos, he was the most well-known elf in the Silvergrove. To the rest of the Silvergrove, however, he was the most enchanting elf to ever walk the earth.

His name didn’t mean ‘dark moon’ for no reason.

The color of his skin was so dark a blue, it was almost black. In contrast, the looping, waving lines of his tattoos were such a pale blue, they were almost white. His long, milk-white hair was set in what seemed like millions of tiny braids, which flowed loosely around his shoulders like waterfalls of moonlight. And his eyes…

His eyes were bright, silvery white. The rarest color among the Moonshadow elves. The only other Moonshadow elf in the whole of Xadia that possessed the unique hue was Luna, the daughter of Lord Artem and Lady Raith. He, even in the unique elven world he lived in, possessed an exotic beauty that ever rarely took form.

Esmeray was his name.

Deimos stared at him as he laughed among the other archery trainees. Esmeray tossed his braids over his shoulder in one fluid motion. Some of them flowed elegantly across the polished hickory bow that was strapped on his back. He bantered back and forth with his friends, laughing brightly. Deimos was quiet as he watched him, a sort of fascination in his eyes.

It was happening more often now, he mused to himself absently. Whenever the elf was around, Deimos’ eye would be inexplicably drawn to him. He only had a few classes with him, namely archery and basic spellcasting, but every time those icy silver eyes looked his way, Deimos found himself looking back. He couldn’t explain it. It just… happened. 

“ _ Perhaps it is because he is the most skilled of the archers _ ,” Deimos concluded, “ _ as I am the most skilled of the swordwielders. I’m naturally drawn to him. The strong seek the strong, after all _ .” Though he felt, way down deep in his heart, that what he told himself was probably not true, he chose to believe it. He couldn’t think of any other explanation.

“Deimos? Hellooooooo, earth to Deimos!” Deimos blinked as Zira snapped her fingers in front of his eyes. He turned towards her in annoyance.

“What?” He asked.

“I said let’s get going!” Zira held out her robe set. “I bought the robes. I’m going to drop them off at my place before dinner.”

Deimos frowned. “Isn’t that just a waste of time?” He asked her. “Wouldn’t it be better to just wait until dinner’s over and save some time and energy?”

Zira feigned shock. “And risk spilling soup, or whatever they're serving tonight, on my brand-new, fresh-out-of-the-shop robes?!” She brought the robes close to her chest protectively. “You monster.”

Deimos sighed at his very overdramatic friend. “Ugh. Fine.” He gave her a sharp glare. “But you better make it quick.”

She did not make it quick. Her pace was nothing above a leisurely stroll back to her little cottage. Deimos waited impatiently as she jogged up the steps and disappeared into her home. It was several minutes before she reappeared. By that time, Deimos was sure the dinner bell would ring at any second.

“What in blazes were you doing in there?!” He questioned her. “Boiling water for tea with only the heat from the sun?”

Zira fixed him with a nasty glare. Her previous good mood was gone. “Estel got sick again.” 

“... Oh.”

Zira’s little sister, two-year-old Estel… well, let’s just say it was a miracle she was alive. Born right before a particularly harsh winter season, she nearly froze to death when a blizzard broke through the window of her room and buried her in freezing snow. From then on, her health was as fragile as porcelain. Whenever she got sick, it could go from mild to a battle between life and death within a heartbeat. 

Whenever a dark part of Deimos’ mind questioned if Estel really was so sick, he would remember when Zira fainted during training, pale-skinned, with dark circles beneath her eyes, because she had spent the entire night before helping her parents care for Estel. Estel had caught what was known as the Crimson Sickness, and she had been coughing up blood for the past two days, barely able to breathe at all. Zira had woken up crying, because she believed that her precious sister was going to die.

“What is it this time?” He asked, following her as she walked past him, making her way back to the village.

“Just a cold,” she answered. By her tone of voice, Deimos could tell she thought otherwise. “Dad doesn’t want to give her bogey berries, though. He’s worried she won’t be able to breathe.”

“Ah.” Deimos stared at Zira’s back as she forged on to the dining hall. He felt the tiniest prick of guilt at the irritation he had felt earlier. “Sorry about getting mad.”

“Accepted.” Zira said curtly, glancing back at him with a small grin. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. Besides, Estel is getting better. She’s been getting sick less and less often, and Healer Canneta said she’ll get stronger as she grows.”

Deimos nodded. “If they say so.” Healer Canneta was known for their work in both Moon and Earth magic, using a combination of both to both heal their patients and predict future ailments. Healer Canneta was a busy, busy elf, but they were the best in the Silvergrove. If they believed Estel would get better, then there was a good chance Estel would get better.

Deimos’ thoughts were subdued as the two of them walked to the dining hall. He really wasn’t looking forward to another night of loud noises and chatter. With finals approaching, the Blue Moon festival happening, Zira’s little sister, Esmeray, all of his thoughts crowded around in his head, making him feel claustrophobic in wide open space. He rapped his fingers across the sheath of his sword, the clicking noises somewhat of a comfort.

“ _ I just want to go to dinner, eat, and go home _ .” He thought, pressing his lips into a line. “ _ That’s all I want _ .”

“Hey, D-D-D-Deimos! Z-Z-Zira!” A voice broke through his thoughts. Both elves turned to see a small-statured elf come running their way. Inwardly, Deimos groaned. 

“ _ Perfect. _ ” He thought sarcastically. “ _ Exactly who I need right now. Io _ .”

Io was perhaps the least popular elf in the Silvergrove. Esmeray’s polar opposite. His looks were simple and common, with his light skin and minimal blue markings. His hair was kept in a short, messy fade, which was swept to the side. Though his skill was on par with Esmeray’s, maybe even more so, he was a target for belittlement instead of awe. He hardly ever spoke, but when he did, he had a horrible stutter. Thus, the trainees had given him the nickname “Stuttering Io'' behind his back. If he was aware of it, though, he did not address it.

It wasn’t that Deimos disliked Io, not at all. He just found Io’s stutter  _ incredibly _ annoying.

“Hey,” Io panted as Zira and Deimos both stopped as he approached. “Th-Thanks for w-w-waiting for m-me.”

“No problem, I-owe-you!” Zira replied cheerfully, giving him her signature older-sisterly hair ruffle. Zira was one of the few elves who didn’t take part in Io’s belittlement. She seethed at the fact that the other trainees mocked his stutter behind his back. She openly made friends with him, and gave him the much nicer nickname ‘I-owe-you’. 

The peculiar name was first born from when Zira lost a bet with him that he could shoot more bull’s-eyes than she could. Zira told him she would pay him later, but never did. So, the nickname was born. It always brought a smile to Io’s face whenever she called him by the name.

“D-D-Did the d-dinner bells r-r-ring yet?” He asked after he had caught his breath.

“No.” Deimos said. “It would be kind of hard to miss if they did.” That was always his strategy when he had to deal with Io. Minimal words, shut down the conversation as fast as possible.

“O-oh…” Io trailed off, looking very uncomfortable. He tugged on the long braid in his hair, the only section of his hair that he allowed to grow out. That tic also annoyed Deimos to no end. Mark his words, he was going to pull it out eventually. Zira must have noticed his eye twitching, because he swiftly received an elbow to the stomach.

“So, how are you today, Io?” Zira asked him, pointedly ignoring Deimos’ offended glare. 

He perked up. “I’m f-f-ine, th-thanks for as-as-asking.” A look of sympathy suddenly crossed his face. “I h-heard about Es-Es-Estel, by the w-way. I m-m-met your d-dad in the healer’s t-t-t-tree.”

Zira sighed. “Yeah. Dad was really worried about her. It’s hard to cure a cold without bogey berries.” She shook herself, as if to shake away her gloom. “What were you doing in the healer’s tree?”

“I, uh, I g-g-got into some t-tr-trouble with C-Cloudfall.”

Deimos raised a brow. “Cloudfall? The Moonstrider you’ve been training?”

“Y-yeah.” Io indicated the bandages on his shoulders. “C-C-Cloudfall wasn’t feeling up t-to much t-t-training t-today. He… uh… s-sc-scratched me.”

Zira’s eyes widened. “Oh no! Are you alright?” Moonstrider claws were notorious for being sharp enough to strip the bark of a stonewood tree in one swipe.

“Yeah, I’m f-f-ine!” Io laughed it off, embarrassed. “He j-j-just cau-caught me off guard, th-that’s all.”

Zira went into full Big Sister mode. “Well, make sure you put Sun’s Tears salve on it every three hours. It’ll speed the healing process and make sure it doesn’t get infected.”

“Yes, M-M-Mom.” Io giggled at Zira’s amused glare. “I’ll st-stop by the w-weapons m-m-masters’ f-f-forge l-later to s-s-see if Al-Al-Alden has any I can b-b-orrow.”

At the sound of his name, Zira’s step faltered. Deimos cast a questioning glance to her as she cleared her throat.

“You’re… going to see Alden?” Her voice dropped to a whisper, confusing Deimos even more.

Io gave her a knowing look. He grinned teasingly. “D-D-Don’t worry, I’ll b-b-be sure to t-tell him you sa-said hi.”

Zira pouted, suppressing a pleased smile. The two elves chatted with one another, Deimos trailing behind, doing his best to block them out, as they arrived at the dining hall just as the bells sounded. They slid into the front of the line, behind the few elves that were already waiting. They received bowls of vegetable soup and seasoned bread rolls. As they passed the final area of the line, adding a cup of water to their meals, Io’s head suddenly perked up at the sound of familiar laughter.

“Oh, is th-that Esmeray?” He wondered. His plain blue eyes searched the group ahead of him, before resting on the tall elf in question. Io blinked as Esmeray sensed the eyes on him, and looked up from his food towards the trio. Zira, being much more socially adept, simply waved and smiled. Io tensed up a little, only managing a stiff wave, before needing to awkwardly catch his food before it fell. Deimos only dipped his head.

Esmeray gave the group a dazzling smile. He waved to them politely.

“I’m sitting in the back tonight.” Deimos announced to his friend, breaking off and walking to the far end of the hall.

“Wait, why?” Zira asked him.

“It’s quieter.”

Io and Zira exchanged a look as Deimos walked away. Zira only shrugged. “Table by the fire?” She asked him.

“F-F-Fine with me.” He replied.

* * *

Deimos flipped through his copy of  _ Dark Magic: How to Recognize and Avoid it _ as he sipped away at his soup. He was the only one at his table, which was tucked away in the quietest corner of the hall. His dust gray eyes flicked back and forth between the pages, reading through the information he had already learned numerous times. Dark magic was seldom a magic he liked to study, but he had to be prepared for anything he might encounter when he became an assassin.

Each page in the well-worn book had a different spell, the words, ingredients, and effects of the spells explained in detail. They only grew worse and worse with every page.

‘ _ Kram ruoy dnif, tlob rekeestraeh - A spell that ensures a projectile never misses its target. Used on spears, cannons, giant crossbows, and sometimes arrows, if the wielder is desperate. Uses the eye of a gryphon.’ _

_ ‘Niaga esir, nellaf fo hsa - A resurrection spell that brings to life afterimages of dead creatures. These creatures are immune to weapons of any kind. Can only be destroyed when their task is complete or with magic. Uses the ashes of the desired creature and a Shadowlife Candle (See page 6). _

_ ‘Htaerb eht laets - A spell that steals the breath of those it is cast on. The victim is unable to breath when it is cast. Released either willingly, or if the paw is removed from the caster’s possession. Uses the mummified paw of a Xadian singing weasel.’ _

_ ‘Etah fo nopaew a htiw efil niard ot, ssol dna evol fo tonk delgnat a tsiwt - The spell that creates an ultimate weapon of vengeance. It is so far unknown what exactly this spell is capable of-’ _

“Hey.”

Deimos looked up from his reading to a pair of icy silver eyes watching him. He sat up straight in his chair as Esmeray glanced down to his book. “Studying for exams?”

“Yes.” Deimos replied curtly. Esmeray nodded.

“Those spells are no joke.” He commented, flicking his braids over his shoulder. Deimos watched the action with rapt attention. He felt an urge to straighten his own long hair, which had grown a bit frizzy in the humid summer night air. “Speaking backwards, using other creature’s magic essence for spells, it’s some awful stuff.”

Deimos nodded. “Yeah.” He had to resist the temptation to work his jaw. Why did it feel like he couldn’t get the words he spoke out of his mouth? 

Esmeray pulled around a chair and sat down. He draped one of his arms over the backrest casually, regarding Deimos with a thoughtful gaze.

“My Mom met one, you know.” He mentioned. 

Deimos’ ears pricked. “A dark mage?”

“Yeah. Two, actually.” Esmeray’s eyes became distant. “My Mom and her team were patrolling The Border with a group of Skywing mages. They were checking on the outpost nearest to the river of lava when they found a group of humans crossing over.”

Deimos’ heart grew cold. “Insolent creatures.”

Esmeray nodded in agreement. “There were only a few, but two of them, an old man and a young-ish boy, were dark mages from the kingdom of Katolis. My Mom said the old man was really frail, but despite barely being able to cast on his own, he almost killed three of the Skywing mages. Mom was the one who struck him down.

“However, the boy escaped. He used some sort of blinding spell that temporarily weakened the elves enough so he could get away. They don’t know how he got back across The Border. Whatever the humans had stolen from Xadia, he took back to Katolis.”

Deimos frowned deeply. “Blinding spell…?” He began flipping through his book, searching for it.

“Oh, it’s not in that book.” Esmeray yawned. “I’ve read it back to front. There are a lot of spells that aren’t in it, actually.”

Deimos tilted his head. “Really? How do you know?”

“That book was written almost fifty years ago. There must be hundreds of new spells the humans have concocted. Mom said the dark mages cast many spells she was unfamiliar with. Kept her team on the tips of their toes. Who knows what the humans are capable of, anymore.”

Deimos was quiet. It had never occurred to him that the humans must have advanced their magic. Though he shuddered to admit it, dark magic was versatile. It could adapt. It was capable of great things. Terrible, horrifying things, but great all the same. He frowned. If Esmeray was right, which Deimos knew he had too much honor to lie… Deimos needed some serious study.

“Do you know of those spells your mother spoke of?” Deimos asked Esmeray.

Esmeray’s brow raised. “I do.” He examined his nails nonchalantly. “What’s it matter to you? You’re the best swordfighter in our entire year.”

Deimos straightened in his chair. For some unknown reason, Deimos was inadvertently pleased at Esmeray’s words. They carried a weight that Deimos had never experienced before. He had no idea what it meant.

“I may be very skilled,” Deimos admitted, “but even my skill could be rendered useless in the face of dark magic. If I don’t understand the lengths dark magic can achieve, then I would be more of a burden than an asset to the assassins.”

“Oh?” Esmeray stopped leaning on the back of his chair. He folded his hands on top of the table, a sly smirk on his face. “What are you implying, Deimos?”

Deimos blinked at Esmeray’s expression, speechless. What was this? This… feeling? Esmeray stared at Deimos cooly, waiting for his response. Deimos swallowed, confused. He gathered his thoughts back up, then he cleared his throat.

“Would you teach me?”

Esmeray’s eyes widened slightly. He sat up in his chair, at his full height. Deimos noticed how much taller Esmeray was than him. “Teach you?” Esmery repeated. “Me? Teach you about dark magic? That’s a little… suspicious, Deimos.”

Deimos felt his cheeks redden. “Not… I meant teach me about the spells that aren’t in the book,” He clarified. “If I am to become the leader of the assassins one day, I need to be prepared for anything the humans have up their sleeves.” 

Esmeray pursed his lips, nodding in agreement. “True, true, that would be wise.” He cast a glance at Deimos. “You have quite the lofty goals, Deimos.”

“Yeah. It’s my duty to serve the Silvergrove to the best of my abilities.” Finishing off the last of his bread, Deimos began packing away his things. “If you are willing to teach me, I would deeply appreciate it.”

Esmeray tilted his head in consideration. He twirled one of his braids between his fingers, humming. “I don’t know…” His icy silver eyes flicked down to meet Deimos’ dust gray irises. “What would I get in return?”

Deimos mulled over the question. It was fair, he mused. Seldom anything in the world was worth doing for free, in his opinion. What could he do for Esmeray…

“I could…” His eyes rested on his sword, which was still snug in its sheath. “I could spar with you. One-on-one swordplay. I could help you improve.”

Esmeray narrowed his eyes. “Are you saying I need improvement?”

Instead of his usual speal of ‘well, everybody needs improvement in something, no matter how good they think they are,’ Deimos faltered over his words. He didn’t know why. But the fleeting thought that he had offended Esmeray made him panic.

Esmeray, to his relief, just laughed. “I’m joking. There’s always room for improvement.” He faced Deimos with a smile. “And thank you. I would like to think I’m an adept swordfighter, but I am most definitely lacking in some areas. One-on-one sparring would really help me out.”

Deimos nodded, just a hint of a pleased smile on his face. “Then it’s settled.” He concluded. “You teach me about the dark spells you know about, and I’ll help you to improve your swordsmanship technique.”

Esmeray grinned widely. “Sounds perfect.”

The two elves shook hands with each other, just as the final bell rang through the dining hall, signalling that the day was officially over.

* * *

“Whoa whoa whoa, back it up,” Zira had to run to keep up with Deimos. Io trailed behind the two, unusually silent, even for him. “You need to run that by me again, because I am almost certain something messed with my head and made me hallucinate the last words you just said to me.”

Deimos sighed. He had reached the end of his patience so long ago, he had just become numb to Zira’s nonsense. He rubbed at the bridge of his nose, tired. “ _ I just want to go to bed _ .”

“Like I told you  _ twice before _ , Zira,” He spoke slowly, emphasizing each syllable, “I made a deal with Esmeray. He mentioned that the school-issued book about dark magic didn’t have a lot of spells that were developed since its publication. He’s agreed to teach me about those spells. In return, I am going to train one-on-one with him to help improve his swordplay. That’s all it is.”

“Like Xadia, that’s all it is!” Zira cried, hands on her hips. “I don’t know how you are so calm about this, Deimos.”

Deimos shrugged his shoulders in exasperation. “I don’t understand why this is such a big deal to you, Zira. It’s not like I haven’t offered to train  _ you _ one-on-one multiple times when you mention you need it.”

“Th-Th-This is d-d-d-different, D-Deimos.” Io spoke up. Deimos brow furrowed at Io’s tone of voice. Why did it seem… off?

“How so?” He inquired. “Enlighten me.”

“W-W-Well, other than the f-f-fact you ar-arranged this d-d-d-deal to exch-ch-change information with each other, you’re also g-g-going to be s-sp-sparring  _ one-on-one _ with the m-most g-g-g-gorgeous elf in the S-S-Silvergrove.” 

Bewilderment passed across Deimos’ face. “What’s that got anything to do with it?”

Io just stared at him. He pressed his lips into a thin line, unsure of where to take the conversation from there. “I’m j-j-just saying, al-m-m-most all of the k-k-kids in our year would j-j-jump at the oppor-t-tunity of g-g-getting to train with Esmeray.” Io shrugged his shoulders. “Esmeray is an archery p-p-prodigy. Even Al-Alden, the next best archer, is j-j-just barely on p-p-p-par with him.”

“Exactly. Well… Alden is really good, too,” Zira muttered. Deimos squinted at her.

“ _ Why is she so keen about Alden _ …?” “Well, for what it’s worth,” Deimos told them, “I’m only doing this because I want to serve the Silvergrove the best I can. There’s no other reason.”

Io nodded, sighing as well. “I kn-kn-know.” He scratched the back of his neck. “I g-g-guess I’m j-j-just a little j-j-j-” He frowned has he struggled to get the word out, “jealous.”

Deimos raised a brow. “ _ Jealous? Why _ ?” He couldn’t fathom why Io of all people would be jealous of him. Io was pretty well off, in terms of skill. He wielded spears with deadly accuracy. Though he didn’t look it, he was strong and quick on his feet. Deimos couldn’t understand why Io was jealous.

As the group reached Deimos’ home, however, Deimos yawned widely. He had no interest in mulling over the thought any more. “Well, I’ll see you in the morning.” He gave a half-hearted wave to Zira and Io as he climbed up the short staircase that led to the tree his home was built into.

“Okay,” Io nodded. “S-s-see you t-t-t-tomorrow!”

“Goodnight, Deimos!” Zira waved back, a grin on her face. “See if you can beat me in training tomorrow!”

“I always do!” He called back, his mouth quirking in a smile. Though he would never admit it out loud, he truly was grateful to have a friend like Zira. And, though he would  _ never _ admit it to even  _ himself _ … Io was not a bad friend to have either.

Deimos entered into his home, yawning again as he set his things down in the built in shelves by the door. As usual, he heard clinking around in the kitchen, most likely his aunt doing the dishes, and low, pleasant chatter in the lounge.

“Ah, the assassin returns!” One of the men who was playing mancala smiled as Deimos walked in the room. He chuckled as Deimos waved absently at him. “Tired, much?”

“Yeah.” He yawned. He nodded to the other man. “Hey, Luan.”

The metal sculptor nodded in greeting. “Evening, kiddo. Anything interesting happen today?”

“No, not really.” Deimos knew that his uncle Cy and his uncle’s friend Luan would simply eat up the fact that he was now going to be training with Esmeray. They both admired the young archer, as most of the Silvergrove did. “Just the usual.”

“Is that Deimos?” The resonate voice came from the kitchen. A face appeared around the corner. The woman smiled. “I didn’t hear you come in! Welcome home.”

“Thanks, Aika.” Deimos received a hug from her. “Did you have a good day?”

“I did indeed!” She laughed brightly. “Just this morning, Lady Raith asked me to play for the festival coming up. I’m so excited! I’ve always loved the Blue Moon festival.”

“Good for you, Aika.”

She nodded, the creases in her face showing as she smiled. “Now, get to bed, young man! It’s the new moon, and it’s late! Not to mention exams! Go, go!”

“I’m going, I’m going.” Deimos held up his hands in surrender. He almost laughed as Aika practically pushed him towards his room. Cy and Luan both laughed, their mancala pieces clinking around as they continued their game.

Deimos walked into his room, shutting the door behind him. His evening routine was a simple one. He changed out of his training garb and pumped water through the pipeline that ran through his home to wash. There were specially enchanted earthen stones in the bottom of his tub that heated the water to a suitable temperature. He bathed relatively quickly, in order to preserve the magic of the heated earth stones longer. After letting the water drain and toweling himself off, he changed into his much softer, looser robes. 

Yawning once more as he walked out of his bathroom, he placed his hands on the sphere of glowing light embedded in his ceiling that illuminated his room. He whispered an incantation to it. A small line of runes flickered to life for a fleeting moment, before the light dimmed to almost nothing. As the moon was new, the magic was weak. It would reabsorb the moon’s energy in time, when the moon became full again.

As Deimos lay down on his bed, he contemplated the events that had occurred during the day. Training with Esmeray would be valuable for him. He needed to know as much as possible about the humans and their dark magic before he was to become an assassin. It was imperative, if he was to uphold his duty. And on Esmeray’s side, he would become much more skilled in the art of swordplay. They both would take their places and serve their purposes.

As he slowly lost himself into the dark folds of sleep, though, Deimos couldn’t help but wonder… was there another reason he had agreed to this so easily? If anything, he was nothing but someone who carefully plans out his ideas. He is not one to dive headfirst into anything without reason. 

So… what was different? What was different about Esmeray that made Deimos so… drawn to him?

… What made Deimos feel so differently about Esmeray?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prepare yourselves... next week is going to be a big one


	11. Never Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be a nice long chapter.... where I will proceed to rip your hearts out. You've been warned.

“Hey, there you are!” Esmeray grinned as Deimos jumped down the hill to meet him where he stood at the edge of the training field. “Right on time.”

Deimos nodded. “Of course. I’m never one to be late.” He shifted the bag he carried on his shoulders.

The day after the two of them made their agreement, they met in the sand circle, one of the most desirable spots for swordsmanship training. The soft sand meant minimal injury, should an elf take a hard fall, and minimal damage to any weapons that were dropped. 

Deimos brushed a stray hair from his face. He had tried his best to contain all of his hair in one hair tie, but no matter how hard he tried, he always had those few strands who refused to do what he wanted. He glanced at Esmeray's perfect braids, just a touch jealous.

“So,” Esmeray began, “what are we going to work on first?”

Deimos pursed his lips. “Well, it would be best if we began with swordsmanship training. Studying would lock up our muscles and make it more difficult to warm up.” He shrugged his bag off his shoulders, setting it on the edge of the training circle. 

Esmeray dipped his head. “Well then,” he unsheathed his sword, a smile on his face. “Let’s get started!”

Deimos nodded in agreement. The two took their positions beside each other, mirroring each other’s stances, and began their warm up reps.

For Deimos, the sets were as easy for him as breathing. Each position was perfect. He moved between them in a relaxed, swift tempo. Breathe in, breathe out. Every movement, every position, was executed with precision and accuracy.

The same, however, could not be said for Esmeray. As Esmeray was much more attuned to archery, swordsmanship was not one of his stronger suits. Though he tried his best to even out his breathing and flow through the motions, many of his movements were slightly jerky and out of tempo. He had to either speed up or slow down in order to stay somewhat in time with Deimos. His brow was knit in concentration, and his mouth was ticked in a frustrated scowl.

His plight did not go unnoticed. After finishing the sets, Deimos dropped his position and put a hand on his hip.

“How about we try that again, hm?” He asked, sheathing his sword.

Esmeray, despite Deimos’ slightly harsh word choice, only laughed. “Yes, definitely. That was…” he blew a breath from his mouth, “ _ not _ the best.”

Deimos hummed. “This time, go at a speed that’s more comfortable for you. The most important thing about swordsmanship, before speed, is precision and accuracy. Once you fully ingrain the proper stances into your muscle memory, it makes building speed much easier.”

“Got it. And, if I may be honest,” Esmeray grinned sheepishly, “it was a bit hard trying to keep up with you. You go so  _ fast _ ! I don’t know how you do it.”

Deimos blinked. A heat spread over his cheeks. “It… it’s practice, that’s all.” He cleared his throat, straightening up. “And with us training together, you’re sure to improve.”

Esmeray smiled. “Wonderful.” Shaking himself out, he returned to the first stance of the warm-up sets. “I’m ready.”

“Alright. Make sure to focus on being smooth and precise.”

Deimos observed Esmeray as he repeated the warm-up sets. He was noticeably slower than the previous round, but Deimos saw that his movement and accuracy had already improved. He looked much more visibly relaxed, and a hundred times more focused on himself and his performance, as opposed to keeping up with Deimos.

Deimos, seeing this almost instantaneous improvement, felt just the tiniest bit guilty. He should have predicted that Esmeray was not as fast as he was. He should have compensated for that. He paused in his watching of Esmeray, feeling a bit like a jerk.

“ _ Well, I’ll be sure not to repeat that mistake _ ,” He told himself.

“Deimos?” Esmeray’s voice broke him out of his thoughts. 

“Yes?”

Esmeray tilted his head. “Uh… I said how did I do? I finished the sets.”

Deimos stared at him for a moment. “ _ Oh shoot, I spaced out again _ .” He cleared his throat, embarrassed. “Better. You were much more fluid and relaxed going from motion to motion. Your stance accuracy also improved.”

“Really?” Esmeray’s expression turned pleased. “Awesome! I wasn’t expecting to improve so much so quickly!”

Deimos tapped his sword sheath, looking at the ground. “Ah, about that, that was partly my fault. I didn’t take into account that most people can’t keep up with my speed.” Deimos rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Esmeray waved off his apology. “You and I have different skill levels. Mine is not where yours is. Don’t apologize for that. That’s why I’m training with you.” Esmeray gave him a bright, good-natured smile.

Deimos blushed. He clenched his hand as his heartbeat suddenly got… faster? What was happening? “I’m… glad you understand.” He was quiet for one more heartbeat, before taking a deep breath, returning to his business-like guise. “Let’s move on to the single opponent battle sets. Take each position and hold it, so I can see how familiar you are with them.”

“Yes, sir!” Esmeray whirled his sword around, cracking his knuckles and shaking out his fingers, before taking his stance and moving his sword into the first set.

At each set, Deimos would either nod for Esmeray to continue, for his form was excellent, or he would instruct Esmeray on what he needed to improve. Esmeray, after adjusting his form, would move to the next set, assessing whether or not it was right. As the training progressed, though, Esmeray found it harder and harder to understand Deimos’ words. He would try adjusting his form, only to hear a chorus of ‘no’s from Deimos, telling him other way. Once again, Esmeray’s brow knit with frustration, and his teeth started to show as he tried to perfect the sets.

“Lift your blade higher,” Deimos instructed him patiently, “but don’t bend your wrist so much.”

“Like this?” Esmeray tried to straighten out his arm, but only worsened the bend in his wrist. “Is this right?”

“No,” Deimos walked to Esmeray, stopping mere inches away from him. He lifted Esmeray’s hand, running his fingers across it to straighten it out. “Like this.”

Esmeray was quiet as Deimos adjusted his form, walking in circles around him. He felt his heartbeat speed up, and it took all of his self control to keep his eyes on his sword. He had to resist the urge to tense up when he felt Deimos’ hands on his shoulders.

“Relax,” Deimos pushed down on Esmeray’s shoulders until they dropped. “You can’t fight with tension in your shoulders. It restricts movement.”

Esmeray was almost certain Deimos could feel the pounding of his heart. He cleared his throat. “You are… very knowledgeable about form, Deimos.”

Deimos blinked. “I…” He froze when he realized his hands were still on Esmeray’s shoulders. Swallowing, he whipped his hands to his side. “It takes practice, that’s all. Once your mind registers that the form your making is the correct one, you won’t even have to think about it. You’ll just fall into the form.”

Esmeray’s mouth quirked. “Fall into it, huh…” He held his stance for one moment longer, before dropping it, exhaling. Only a few exercises into training, and his muscles were already becoming sore. The difference in the way he worked his muscles with archery training and the way he worked his muscles in swordsmanship training was more profound than he realized. “This isn’t going to be a short process, is it?”

“Nope.” Esmeray was shocked when Deimos smirked slyly at him. “It wouldn’t be fun if it was easy, would it?”

Esmeray stared at him. “ _ His smile… _ ” He liked it. Could never explain how, or why, but he liked it. Esmeray grinned back. “No. No, it would not.”

The rest of the training session was uneventful. The two moved from form polishing to light sparring. Deimos was careful to use only the moves Esmeray was familiar with, with only a few surprise ones he threw in. They practiced and practiced until the sun set, bathing the Silvergrove in its nighttime glow. Once the bioluminescent moss was visible, the two sheathed their swords and sat on the edge of the field, pouring over books of magic and dark magic.

“The spell I told you about yesterday went something like this,” Esmeray held Deimos’ notebook and quickly wrote down the spell. “I don’t know how to say it out loud.”

Deimos took the notebook, his eyes quickly scanning over Esmeray’s neat handwriting.

‘ _ Seye reiht ekirts, thgil gnidnilb- A powerful blinding spell. The range of the spell’s power is unknown, but any who are close enough are temporarily blinded by a flash of bright light. Uses the skin of a glow toad _ .’

Deimos’ gaze lingered on the last part. “Aren’t glow toads rare in Xadia nowadays?”

“Yeah, but they’re more common along freshwater ponds and swamps.” Esmeray yawned. “There are actually quite a few of them on the western portion of the continent. Probably how the dark mages were able to devise this spell.”

Deimos shook his head. “I both admire and pity the creatures of magic who reside in the human kingdoms. They must live in constant fear of the dark mages.”

Esmeray nodded in agreement. “Yeah. It must be a brutal life for them.”

Both of them silently poured over Deimos’ notes, reading over them and making sure the information was as accurate as it could be. They flipped through the books of dark magic many times, referring to it in an attempt to make sure they were not straying from fact. The crescent moon rose slowly into the sky, its magic weak, but present. Frogs and crickets sang, and moon moths flitted among the trees, soaking in the night air.

After an hour of quiet reading, writing, and debate over the magic spells, Deimos flipped his books shut.

“I think that marks the end of training.” He declared. Esmeray stretched out his arms, yawning widely.

“Great.” He stood up, shouldering his sword sheath strap across his chest. He waited as Deimos gathered all of his books, putting them in his bag and standing up. “Ready to get going?”

Deimos dipped his head. The two elves then set out, climbing back up the hills that surrounded the training field and returning to the village.

“That session was very informative.” Esmeray commented as they strolled. He flicked one of his braids over his shoulder. “I could already feel myself improving. Thanks for meeting me, Deimos.”

“You’re welcome.” Deimos looked away, feeling heat blossom on his cheeks. “It’s never a burden to help others become who they are meant to be.”

Esmeray whistled. “That’s deep.”

“Not really.” Deimos sniffed. “I mean, we all have our parts to play, don’t we?”

Esmeray paused. They had come to the crossroads where Esmeray’s house was one way and Deimos’ house was another. He was quiet for a minute, contemplating Deimos’ words.

“Well, for what it’s worth,” Esmeray flashed Deimos a bright smile, “I’m glad we’ll be playing our parts together. Same time tomorrow?”

Deimos was quiet. He looked into Esmeray’s eyes, the pale, icy silver stark against his almost black skin. His mouth parted ever so slightly, Deimos had to search for the words amidst his star-struck mind.

“Yeah. Same time tomorrow.”

* * *

The weeks seemed to blur together. Day after day, following their first training session, Esmeray and Deimos met at the edge of the training field. They trained their swordsmanship together, iron sharpening iron as Esmeray’s skill continued to improve, little by little. Then, they would sit on the grass, and Esmeray would tell Deimos of the dark spells his mother encountered over her career.

Sometimes, the two were joined by Zira and Io. They would watch the frequent sparring sessions, yelling out encouragement to Esmeray, who was most often bested by the highly skilled Deimos. Though sometimes, on a rare day, Esmeray would surprise Deimos with an unseen sweep to the leg, which sent Deimos on his back, where he looked up to see Esmeray pointing his sword at his throat, panting, a triumphant gleam in his eye. 

“Gotcha,” He would tease, holding out his hand to help him up. From the sidelines, Zira and Io cheered for the archer.

“Impressive,” Deimos would reply with a smirk, slipping into a battle stance once more. “Let’s see if you can do it again.”

When their training sessions concluded, they would walk back to the village together, chatting casually with each other, Zira, and Io. It was then, Deimos discovered, why Io had been so jealous of Deimos when he first planned the training sessions.

“I h-h-h-had s-something o-of a cr-cr-crush on him.” he explained when Esmeray and Zira had gone to their homes.

“You liked him?” Deimos was shocked. “Like,  _ like _ -liked him?”

Io visibly clenched his teeth. “W-w-well… n-not  _ like _ -like… I d-d-don’t really do l-l-like-like relationships, i-if you kn-kn-know what I m-m-m-mean. It’s k-k-k-k-kind of… I w-w-w-wanted to b-b-be f-f-friends with h-him, b-b-because h-he was always n-n-nice to m-me. Wh-What would you c-c-call a f-f-friend crush?” He pondered out loud. “I d-d-don’t kn-know…”

“A squish?” Deimos blurted suddenly. The thought escaped his mouth before he could stop it. 

Io, however, was delighted. “A squish! A squ-squish! Exactly!” He laughed brightly. Deimos couldn’t help but smile. Io’s laughter was contagious. “Squish!”

Slowly, Deimos began not only connecting with Esmeray, but with his other friends as well. He visited Zira at her home after Estel got better, and spent a while reading to Estel Silvergrove legends while Zira watched with a smile on her face. He discovered Io had a passion for biology. He loved flowers of any kind, and he kept up a garden in his backyard, tending to it with love and care.

Slowly, but surely, Deimos was beginning to live.

Then, it arrived. The most anticipated celebration in Moonshadow elf culture. Only occurring once every three years, it was a night of beauty, magic, and miracles.

The Blue Moon Festival had arrived.

And Deimos couldn’t be any less thrilled.

“Are you FREAKING KIDDING ME-”

“Deimos, you seriously need to cool it! We’re in a public dressing room!”

“Oh, I’ll cool it when my freaking hair just- no, sh- AAAAAAAAAAH!”

“Oh, d-d-dear…”

Zira, Io, and Deimos all met up in one of the Silvergrove dress shops to change before the festival. Zira needed help putting on her intricate robes, which Io was more than happy to oblige. Io needed help with figuring out how to weave the flowers he had picked into a crown, which Zira was an expert on. And Deimos…

“I swear to Avizandum, I am going to CUT MY STUPID HAIR!” He threw down the brush and hair bands in frustration, fuming. The waves of his hair stuck out every which way, making Deimos frown at his reflection in the mirror.

Behind him, Zira sighed heavily. “Deimos, you need to exercise a little patience, here. After I’m done, I’ll help you out. Just give me a minute to finish putting my clasps in.”

Deimos plopped down on the chair indignantly, baring his teeth in a snarl as he angrily swiped his mess of hair out of his face.

What would they know? Both Zira and Io had short hair. Zira had braiding experience, but Estel’s hair was thin and straight. Deimos’ hair was thick, layered, and out of control. He looked like he had wind blown at him from every angle at once.

In short: ugh.

“I don’t know what you’re planning on doing with my mess of hair, Zira, but I can tell you now it isn’t going to work.” Deimos grumbled. He picked up the brush and once again tried to pick through it to at least straighten it out. “I’ve seen you braid. Even with Estel’s easy hair, you still struggle.”

“Um, ouch?” Zira huffed, fluffing her bobbed hair, admiring the clasps of swirled metal. “I’m sure I can at least make it better off than it is right now, right?”

Deimos scoffed. “I sincerely doubt that.” Just then, the brush snagged on a portion of his hair. “Oh, for the LOVE OF ALL XADIA-”

“Hey, is everything alright in here?” Deimos’ eyes widened as a familiar voice asked from behind the curtain of the dressing room.

“Esmeray, is that you?” Zira watched the curtain.

“The one and only,” he replied. “I heard yelling. You guys alright in there?”

“I am, so’s Io, but Deimos is having a crisis because he can’t get his hair to lie flat on his head.”

“Oh, really?” Esmeray poked his head through the curtain. As usual, his hair was woven in hundreds of braids. Today, however, there blue, green, and deep purple colored threads braided through the braids in the front of his hair. Esmeray sucked in a small breath at the sight of Deimos’ wild hair.

“You need some help, Deimos?”

Deimos scowled. Embarrassment ran from his head to his toes. He gripped the edges of the chair he sat on, refusing to meet Esmeray’s eyes.

“I would…” He reluctantly spoke, “deeply appreciate some help.”

Esmeray smiled. “As you wish.” He stepped into the dressing room, fully revealing the clothing he had chosen for the festival.

A shoulderless midnight blue tunic hugged the top of his chest. The sleeves that attached to the sides flowed down his arms like rivers of night. The tunic was separated into layers, each one embroidered with white thread, as it approached his waist, until it gave way to his loose, silken pants, which rippled as he walked. 

The entire dressing room was speechless as Esmeray walked in. Esmeray casually stood behind Deimos, and he gave a low whistle.

“You have quite the hair, Deimos, my friend,” he commented. He looked it over, sometimes pulling his fingers through it. 

“It’s an embarrassment,” Deimos clenched his teeth. “I don’t know what you’re gonna do, but don’t be disappointed if it comes out a disaster.”

“Hey, don’t lose faith in me so quickly!” Esmeray beckoned Deimos for the brush. “One of my moms has  _ super _ curly hair. It takes three bottles of smoothing cream and an immovable patience to tame it. When I was littler, I used to help my moms braid each other’s hair. They taught me loads of styles, tips, and tricks. Where do you think I get my braids from? I got this.” Esmeray cracked his knuckles. “I already know exactly what would suit you.”

Esmeray took the brush and began smoothing out Deimos’ waves. Holding the hair ties in his mouth, he separated his hair into three sections, taking time to brush out each one thoroughly. Zira and Io watched with rapt attention as he worked, twisting Deimos’ hair into large braids. His fingers were quick and precise, and he held an expression of knit, but pleasant concentration. 

Deimos closed his eyes as he felt Esmeray’s fingers run across the top of his head. Esmeray was gentle and firm, not letting any strand of hair fall out of place. Deimos enjoyed the feeling of his hands in his hair. It felt… so nice.

After about ten minutes, Esmeray tied the last braid up. He fiddled with Deimos’ hair for one moment longer, before stepping back, a smile on his face.

“Finished!” He announced. Deimos opened his eyes, his hand running down his hair in awe. “And, if I may say, I think I did an excellent job!”

Deimos’ hair was braided in a long, central french braid. As it made its way down his head, smaller braids joined it from the sides of his head. At the base of Deimos' neck, it was all tied together to allow the rest of Deimos’ hair to flow freely. Finally, at the front of Deimos' head, two small, long braids framed the sides of his face.

Deimos felt the hairstyle with awe. He looked in the mirror, viewing his hair from all the angles he could. Not a single strand was out of place. It was indeed marvelously done.

“Wow, that style looks great on you, Deimos!” Zira clapped her hands. “Well done, Esmeray! I was planning on just one braid, but you totally nailed it!” 

“I-it l-l-l-looks r-really good!” Io complimented him with a smile. “Your m-m-moms t-taught you w-w-w-well.”

Esmeray laughed brightly. “Heck yes, they did! No one beats my moms.” He smiled widely at Deimos, who returned it with a smile of his own.

“Thank you, Esmeray.” 

Esmeray blinked. His face held a hint of surprise at the words. “Oh!” His smile returned. “You’re very welcome, Deimos!” 

Zira stood up in a flourish, dusting off her robes. “Well, now that everything’s sorted out,” she flashed the group a grin, “I’d say it’s time to party!”

Esmeray and Io cheered, while Deimos merely smiled. Following Zira’s lead, they emerged from the dress shop and followed the other elves to the festival field. Lunablooms aglow in the light of the moon, wisps floating quietly along, they made their way towards the biggest celebration in the Silvergrove. The Blue Moon Festival had begun.

* * *

The festival had now reached its height. The food had long since been eaten, and the excitement of the cheerful dances had faded away. Now, the soft music of the Dance of the Silver Moon echoed across the valley as the Moonshadow elves danced in the moonlight. 

However, as most of the elves danced to the song, only two elves were not there. The music of the festival grew softer and softer as they strolled through the open field. There seemed to be nothing in a thousand miles except them. Just the two of them, alone under the moon in the endless sky.

Esmeray and Deimos walked in a comfortable silence. The moon moths flitted about, chittering as they basked in the light of the full moon. The ground was soft, the grass swaying in the warm breeze in mesmerizing waves. Esmeray and Deimos both felt the magic of the blue moon enriching their bodies. It truly was a night of beauty and magic. 

The two elves stood under the stars, the distant festival sounds fading away. Deimos spared a glance at Esmeray. His tattoos glowed against his dark skin, his silver hair shining. Esmeray looked back, catching Deimos’ eye. He smiled a little when Deimos quickly looked away.

“Here looks like a good place.” He said. He sat down on the ground, propping himself on his arms. He patted the grass beside him. “Join me.”

Deimos blinked. After a moment, he sat beside Esmeray. Esmeray smiled at him, before he looked skyward, to the stars. Deimos followed his gaze, staring at the heavens dotted with light. He breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of the pure night air. The tension pooled out of his shoulders, and he sighed contentedly.

“Much better, right?” Esmeray asked him, grinning.

“Indeed.” Deimos hummed. “I always get so uncomfortable dancing with someone during the Dance of the Silver Moon. I don’t why, I just… do.”

“Hey, you’re not the only one.” Esmeray clicked his tongue. “I’ve always wanted to dance with someone I choose. And someone who chose me. I’ve just… never found the right person. And it feels so awkward to do it with someone I barely know. After all,” He shot Deimos a grin, “we can’t all be Zira and Alden, can we?”

Deimos groaned dramatically. As Deimos and Esmeray met up at the edge of the party, they had spotted Zira and Alden dancing together. As Deimos watched them, wide-eyed, he saw that they weren’t dancing as friends. No. They were dancing as so much more. “Oh, don’t even get me  _ started _ on those two. All this time, and now they’re  _ together _ ?!”

“It’s cute!” Esmeray defended them, hiding a smile. “Even you have to admit it’s so romantic for them to dance together for the first time underneath the blue moon.”

“It’s crazy, that’s what it is.” Deimos sniffed. “I never would have guessed Zira had it out for Alden this whole time. I mean, I thought she was just as focused as I was on becoming assassins! It’s crazy.”

Esmeray’s smile faded. He gave Deimos a look. “Just as focused…?”

“I’m saying…” He waved his hands around, trying to express his emotions in gestures that made a fraction more sense than words. “Zira and I… we’re opposites. She’s a people person, I am… not. We couldn’t be any more different. But I… I thought we both were set on becoming assassins. I thought we… had that in common.”

Esmeray tilted his head. “Who’s to say she can’t do both?”

Deimos opened his mouth, but no words came out. He blinked several times. He had never thought about it like that before. Was it… was it possible to do both? His brow furrowed.

“I…” For once, Deimos was truly at a loss for words. In all of his training, he had never once considered it from that point of view. Esmeray chuckled a little, shaking his head at Deimos’ silence.

“Man, the assassin instructors really let you have it, huh?” He looked back up to the stars. “You really thought that Zira was only focused on her future as a warrior.”

Deimos was quiet. He could only gaze as Esmeray as he stared heavenward.

“There are more things in life than just your duty, you know.” Deimos cocked his head. Esmeray’s head rolled to the side to meet Deimos’ gaze. “Despite what all the instructors tell you.”

“You think so?” Deimos inquired.

“I  _ know _ so.” Esmeray laughed. “I mean, imagine a life where you live only to fill the role that the society you live in created for you. You may be content, perhaps even eager to fulfill that role, but in the end, it’s like trying to fill a lake with a spoonful of water at a time. You live for your society, but not for yourself. It won’t make you happy.”

Deimos hummed in thought. His face was blank, but his eyes told Esmeray to continue.

“I mean, look at me,” Esmeray gestured to himself. “I’m everything the Silvergrove wants me to be. I’m strong. I’m quick. I’m clever. I know exactly how I will serve my home, and I’ll do it until the day I cannot do it anymore. But… I’m also so much more than that. I like to play with the Shadowpaw kittens when I have the chance. I like joking around with the other kids and playing with the younger ones. I like cooking with my moms.”

“You tell stories as if you were there,” Deimos murmured. “You are kind to those that others are not. You strive to better yourself.”

Esmeray looked at Deimos. His expression was nothing short of awe. Deimos looked back, his face cool and sincere.

“I…” Esmeray looked away, a blush on his cheeks. “Yeah, I’m those things, too, I guess.” He pursed his lips. “And the same goes for you, too.”

Deimos’s eyes widened. He pointed a finger at himself. “Me?”

“Yeah.” Esmeray looked at the stars again. “You’re highly skilled, that’s true. You’re dead set on becoming the leader of the assassins, the protectors of the peace of Xadia. You’re dedicated, willing, and capable of achieving all that… but you’re also capable of so much more.”

Deimos was quiet. 

“You’re…” Esmeray continued softly, “smart. Strong. You hold tradition in high esteem, and you know right from wrong. You were also willing to help me get better at swordsmanship… you were so patient with me, in ways no one has ever treated me. You make me feel like I can just be… me. Not this star child that will forever be the talk of the Silvergrove, but just… me.”

Deimos was quiet. Esmeray avoided his gaze, feeling his heart accelerate in his chest. 

“ _ Shootshootshootshootshoot, I overdid it by a mile _ .” Esmeray felt the blush on his cheeks grow until he felt like his whole face was warm. “ _ Ahhhhhhhh, I am such an idiot! Too soon, too soon, too soon _ -”

Esmeray twitched when he felt a hand cover his own. His head whipped around to see that Deimos had moved closer. His mouth opened as the rising moon brought out the color of Deimos’ eyes in a way he had never seen before. They no longer looked like clouds of dust. No. Instead, they were the clouds that rained softly on the forest, that nurtured the soil and made the plants open their leaves. The kind of clouds that still let the sun shine through them. The clouds that were almost alive.

Esmeray met Deimos’ gaze. His heart still fluttered in his chest, but it felt different. He dared to move his fingers, weaving them through Deimos’. Deimos didn’t break eye contact. He only stared.

“I’ve… never really thought about what I want to do with my life,” Deimos murmured. His brow furrowed slightly. “I’ve just wanted to serve Xadia. That’s all I ever wanted… until now.”

Esmeray breathed slowly. “Oh really?”

Deimos hummed. “The thing is… I don’t know what else my life can be. All I’ve known is my duty. I’m not sure what more there could be to my life.”

Esmeray tilted his head ever so slightly. A small smile graced his lips, his icy silver eyes never leaving Deimos’ gray ones. 

“Could you…” Deimos leaned forward, their breath fluttering across each other’s faces like the touches of butterfly wings, “show me?”

Esmeray already knew the answer. His eyes fluttering shut, he closed the distance between them, connecting their lips in a sweet kiss.

* * *

_ Sixteen Years Later… _

“You have all your bedding packed, right?”

“Yes.”

“And you restocked your arrows? Got your bow inspected?”

“Yes…”

“And you have enough clothing to last you three months?”

Esmeray sighed. “Yes, Deimos. I have enough to last me well through a year, if I’m careful.”

Deimos scanned over Esmeray’s packing list again, subdued. “Just making sure.” He mumbled, clenching the paper slightly.

Esmeray stared at the back of Deimos’ head. His hair was still so messy. Long, uneven waves that were only tame within the confines of braids. He smiled, feeling soft inside. Dropping his bag onto their bed, he wrapped his hands around Deimos’ waist.

“Hey,” Esmeray rested his chin on Deimos’ shoulder, “talk to me, my stormcloud. Why are you so worried?”

“I’m not worried,” Deimos denied half heartedly. He leaned his head against Esmeray’s, sighing. “I just…” He searched for a good way to voice his feelings. “It… it’s not easy when you’re away.”

Esmeray gave Deimos a look, his eyes filled with concern. “Why? You’ve never been like this when I’ve had to leave.”

Deimos was silent. He stared into space, not meeting Esmeray’s worried eyes. After a moment of internal conflict, Deimos turned around and hugged his beloved.

“... The truth is…” Deimos looked away, a strange look on his face. “I… have something to give you.”

Esmeray tilted his head. “Oh?” Deimos nodded his head.

“Yeah,” he scratched the back of his neck, looking uncharacteristically uncomfortable. “Can we… sit down for this?”

Esmeray searched Deimos’ face. “Um… sure.” Esmeray wasn’t sure if he liked the vibe Deimos was giving off. It reminded him of when he was a little boy, and he had unknowingly done something bad, and his moms looked at him and said “Esmeray, we need to talk.” 

Both of the elves sat down on the bed. Esmeray’s heart was beating nervously in his chest. He leaned against Deimos’ shoulder for support. He was hyper aware of everything around him. His breathing, the songbirds outside the windows, the rapid beating of his heart, and Deimos’ touch. There was a heavy air of foreboding between them, and Esmeray couldn’t stand it.

“What…” Esmeray broke the silence, “did you… want to-”

“We’re still secret, right?” Deimos blurted out. “No one knows about us…?” 

Esmeray’s eyes widened. “I- yes, of course.” Ever since their relationship began, Deimos insisted to keep it private from everyone. Though it disappointed Esmeray, just a little, he knew that dating publicly would make Deimos really uncomfortable. He had kept the secret of their relationship, only close and affectionate with him behind closed doors. The only other person who knew was Avizandum, the Dragon King, after the letters that had been sent to the Borderguard got mixed up, Avizandum accidentally ending up with Deimos’ letter to Esmeray. Esmeray had panicked, thinking he had just broken the bond of trust he had worked so hard to forge between himself and Deimos, but Deimos was understanding. He was quite embarrassed, to say the least, especially since the person who found out was  _ the king of the dragons _ of all people, but Avizandum merely chuckled.

“Don’t worry,” He had said in his deep, rumbling voice, “I will keep your secret. Privacy is one of the most important parts of trust. It will be a cold day at The Border if I ever betray that trust.”

Deimos was quiet. His hand unconsciously found Esmeray’s, intertwining their fingers. Esmeray swallowed thickly as Deimos reached within the fold of his robes.

“Deimos…” Esmeray bit his lip. He couldn’t take this any longer. “If there is something you want to tell me, then just tell-” Deimos opened his palm. Esmeray’s eyes widened “-me…”

Two rings sat in Deimos’ hand. Striking purple gemstones, nestled in a nest of thousands of tiny metal wires, which all interwove to form the rings. The rings were strung through thin but strong chain necklaces. Esmeray’s mouth dropped open as he stared at the jewels. Deimos clenched his hand that was still folded into Esmeray’s.

“They’re… promise rings.” Deimos whispered. “They’ve been long overdue. I… I know how hard it is for you to keep us a secret, and I’ve… not made decisions I should have.” Deimos took a deep breath. “So… I wanted to give you these… to tell you that we don’t have to hide anymore.”

Esmeray was speechless. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the beautiful rings that lay in Deimos’ palm. Slowly, as if he was afraid they were mirages, he reached out and touched one of the rings. He felt a shiver go up his arm as he sensed the magic aura around the gemstones. Moon opals. They were moon opals.

“Deimos…” Esmeray finally looked up to meet his eyes. Deimos set his jaw, expecting to find every emotion on Esmeray’s face, but his eyes widened at Esmeray’s smile. “Really? You mean it?”

Deimos blinked at the soft delight. His heart squeezed with both endearment and guilt. He knew that he had been holding back for too long. Their long distance relationship, he had feared, would become too strained. For so long, he was convinced that Esmeray would call it off. In the stolen days Esmeray would return, Deimos would search the shops in the Silvergrove, staring at the rings, the necklaces, and most of all, the horn clasps. He just couldn’t bring himself to ask.

But now, he felt ridiculous. Esmeray  _ loved _ him. And so did Deimos. No matter what, their love would always be there. Deimos dared to let a smile lift his face. He held Esmeray’s hand, swirling his thumb over the top of it.

“Then…” He lifted the rings, “may I?”

Esmeray smiled. He bowed his head as Deimos lifted the chain over his head, over his elegant curving horns. The ring nestled comfortably below Esmeray’s collarbone. Esmeray reached up and touched it, awed at the craftsmanship of the intricate metalwork. His heart soared.

“So…” Deimos said as he put on his own ring, tucking it safely beneath the fabric of his tunic. “Are we… going to tell the others?”

Esmeray thought for a moment. “I think… it’s best if we wait until I return.” Esmeray turned the ring over between his fingers. He smiled as he looked at it. “It’ll be easier to tell everyone then… for both of us.”

Deimos nodded. Inwardly, he sighed with relief. He was dreading having to spend three months dealing with the others gushing over his ‘secret romance’. He shuddered at the thought. It was likely still going to happen, but hopefully, Esmeray would be by his side.

“It wasn’t as hard as you think it was, you know,” Esmeray mentioned. “Keeping us a secret.”

Deimos raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Really? I always thought…”

“Well, sure, I was a little miffed we couldn’t do all the normal couple stuff, like hold hands while we walked through the village, but I know you always tried your best to make up for it. I mean,” Esmeray gestured to Deimos’ house. “We live together. When it’s just the two of us, you’re so open about us. I get to see the side of you no one else gets to see.” Esmeray leaned against Deimos. “So it never bothered me. You just weren’t comfortable with how the others might react to us. I understand.”

Deimos let out a rare chuckle. “Well… sooner or later you have to accept the inevitable. I always knew that one day I would want to let everyone know you’re mine.”

Esmeray smiled, a warmth on his cheeks. He gazed into Deimos’ eyes. They were such a lovely gray. A gray he saw nowhere else but in Deimos’ eyes. He loved that gray.

“I love you.” He said. Deimos smiled. He cupped Esmeray’s head and kissed him, long and slow. When their lips finally parted, Deimos pressed his forehead against Esmeray’s, his hand lingering.

“I will await your return, my love.” Deimos whispered, closing his eyes as he pressed another kiss to Esmeray’s forehead. “Be strong for me.”

Esmeray sighed softly. He leaned against Deimos’ chest, relishing these precious moments they had together. Three months seemed like three eternities when it was away from Deimos. But Esmeray would bear it gladly, knowing that Deimos would be waiting for him. Then, together, they will let the world see their love for the very first time.

* * *

_ Ten Days Later…  _

“ _ Where in Xadia _ is _ he _ ?” Deimos tossed his hair irritably over his shoulder as he marched through the Silvergrove. “ _ Why is he late? He’s  _ never  _ late! _ ” 

It was close to midnight, and the crescent moon smiled in the sky, like it was chuckling at Deimos’ irritation. The twilight had just faded into night, and only the first few croaking songs of the frogs could be heard. It was still quite early, as many of the Moonshadow elves had not yet retired to bed, but it was  _ well _ past the normal time where Deimos would train one of his best students.

Deimos frowned deeply as he made his way through the Silvergrove to the forge of the weaponsmasters. The ring around his neck bumped against his chest, like it was reminding him it was still there. That it still held his promise. Deimos pressed lips together, before shaking the thought from his head.

“ _ When he returns _ ,” Deimos promised himself. “ _ When he returns from The Border in a few weeks, I’ll do it. I’ll ask him. _ ” What Esmeray didn’t know when he departed for The Border, was that not only did Deimos plan to finally tell the Silvergrove of their relationship, he planned to kneel before him and ask for his hand in marriage. It made Deimos’ heart flutter at the thought. After years and years and years, he’ll finally ask the big question. In a way, it made him feel almost nervous. What would Esmeray say…?

“ _ Well, I’ll find out soon enough _ .” Deimos huffed a breath as he climbed up the steps to the top of the cliff. “ _ For now, I’ll need to discipline my student. I hope Jormun and Chila give him a thorough scolding for his tardiness. It is unbecoming of a future assassin _ .”

__

As Deimos arrived at the top of the staircase, however, he heard a sound. He tilted his head in confusion as he identified it. Crying. 

“ _ Who…? _ ” Then, he saw him. Deimos’ eyes caught on the hunched figure that sat on the steps that led to the doors of the forge. Their hands were folded around their knees, their head tucked down. Despite being so curled in on themself, a jerking sob could still be heard.

Deimos watched the elf for one moment longer, then sighed. He knew exactly who it was. “ _ Sensitive boy. It’s been a week since the Borderguard left. You’re fourteen. You need to be stronger than this _ .” Coming to a stop beside the boy’s hunched body, Deimos tapped his shoulder twice.

“Stop crying, Ethari. It’s unbecoming of you…” Deimos trailed off when the young boy looked up.

Heavy tears of sorrow poured from his eyes. His lip trembled as he struggled not to make any sound. Deimos was dumbstruck. He had never seen Ethari like this. Sure, sometimes he cried a bit when Zira and Alden left to return to The Border, but he always wiped his eyes and continued with his life. He certainly didn’t curl into a ball and be late for training.

This time, though, it was different. There wasn’t the longing for his parents in his eyes. There was a heavy, heavy grief.

“Have you heard?” Ethari’s voice was raspy and despairing.

A cold weight settled into Deimos’ heart. “Heard… what?”

Ethari was silent. He sniffed and wiped off his eyes. Standing up on unsteady legs, he wiped the tears from his cheeks, making way for the new ones that flowed from his eyes. Reaching within his clothes, he brought out a roll of paper attached to a deep blue shadowhawk. Deimos was silent as he took it from Ethari’s hands.

“This came in a few hours ago.” Ethari told Deimos as he unraveled the parchment, his heart pounding with dread. “From the Dragon King.” Ethari watched sadly as Deimos’ gray eyes widened with shock as he read. 

_ Chila and Jormun, Weaponsmasters of the Silvergrove, _

_ It is with a heavy heart that I inform you that the Borderguard is no more. During the most recent new moon, we were attacked by human forces of an unknown kingdom. While most of them were soldiers, which the elves handled well, one was a dark mage. The elves of the Borderguard fought valiantly to defend our home, but in the end, your son Alden and his wife Zira were among those who did not survive. I will eternally regret not arriving in time to save them. My deepest condolences to you and your grandson for this heavy loss.  _

_ Avizandum, King of the Dragons _

Deimos stared at the final word, speechless. Zira and Alden were… killed? 

“W… were they the only ones?” He whispered. He grabbed Ethari’s shoulder, shaking him. “How many?! How many were killed?!”

Ethari didn’t protest. He only stared back, hollow-eyed. “All of them.”

Deimos heart plummeted. 

“What…?”

More tears leaked from Ethari’s eyes. His breath hitched, his hands clenching his scarf. “Lady Luna also received a shadowhawk. Grandmother and Grandfather went to her to see what her letter said. None of the Borderguard could stand up to the dark mage’s magic. He killed them all.”

Deimos’ hands fell to his sides. “ _ No… _ ” No. It… it wasn’t true. It  _ couldn’t _ be true. Deimos’ breathing quickened as he took a few steps back. He wound his hands around his ring, clutching it tightly. No, it couldn’t be true. Esmeray… he couldn’t be dead. He  _ couldn’t _ be…

Ethari watched Deimos, a confused, sad concern in his eyes for his teacher. “I’m… really sorry, Deimos…”

“No,” Deimos shook his head. “No, it has to be a mistake.” “ _ He can’t… he can’t _ …” Deimos jerked his head furiously. “ _ Esmeray can’t be gone… he  _ can’t _ be _ …”

A screech broke up his sentence. Deimos and Ethari looked up to the sky to see a shadowed form swoop down from the clouds. Deimos squinted for a moment, before his gray eyes widened when he realized that the smoking form was a dark blue shadowhawk.

The shadowhawk screeched again as its flapping wings made the air toss Deimos’ hair. It hovered in front of Deimos, watching him with its glowing blue eyes. It chirped as Deimos numbly held out his hand, alighting down on the tips of his fingers. 

As soon as it fully closed its wings, the shadowhawk turned from a smoking bird back into an arrow. A deep blue one, same as the one Ethari held, with a piece of parchment tied around the shaft.

With trembling fingers, Deimos untied the parchment from the arrow, turning the paper in his hands to see the seal of the Dragon King. Feeling like his heart was in his throat, Deimos broke the seal, painfully slow as he unraveled the letter.

As he read the scrawling letters, his hands shaking, even Deimos couldn’t hold back a choked cry.

_ Deimos, Leader of the Moonshadow Elf Assassins, _

_ It is with a heavy heart that I must tell you, tragedy has struck. On the night of the new moon, a dark mage and several soldiers of an unknown kingdom attempted to cross into Xadia. Esmeray, as well as the other elves of the Silvergrove, dove into battle to protect our home. Though he fought strong and true, fending off the soldiers, he and the Borderguard could not stand up against the foul dark mage. It will forevermore be one of my greatest regrets that I did not arrive in time to save him. I have nothing to offer, accept my solace and sympathy for you. _

_ Avizandum, King of the Dragons _

* * *

_ Three Days Ago… _

_ “Humans! On the Xadian side, near the Twisted Talons!” Esmeray yelled. Nocking an arrow, he pulled back and shot one of the human soldiers clean through his chest armor. As he nocked another, Io, Alden, Zira, and the rest of the Borderguard elves rushed forward from behind him, shouting war cries as they charged into battle. _

_ “Where’s Avizandum?!” Esmeray shouted to Aelia, the leader of the Borderguard, as she jumped into place beside him, shooting her own flame-tipped arrows and avoiding the oncoming fire from the human archers. _

_ “Still patrolling the southern portion of The Border!” She yelled back. “We’re on our own until he arrives!” Cursing as an arrow glanced off her golden headdress, she raised her fingers and drew a flaming symbol in the air. She uttered the incantation, and pillars of fire erupted around the humans, searing their armor and setting their clothes alight. Esmeray grabbed three arrows out of his quiver, and shot them all out towards the soldiers. He swore when only one of them found its mark in a soldier’s leg. _

_ “Sunfire elves! Regroup to me!” Aelia ordered. She launched herself into the fray, whirling her bow. “Esmeray, watch your friends’ backs!” _

_ “Yes ma’am!” Braids flying, Esmeray leaped off of the crag of rock he was using as cover and landed squarely on the shoulders of a human soldier. The woman let out a cry as she buckled under Esmeray’s weight, then went limp when Esmeray plunged his dagger through her neck. _

_ Standing up, he used his bow to parry an attack from another soldier before Io fell on him, his spear easily piercing through his back. Esmeray nodded to Io, before they stood back to back and fended off the attacks from the remaining soldiers. _

_ “I c-c-count tw-twenty!” Io yelled to Esmeray. “S-s-s-seven down, s-s-seven at least sl-slightly wounded!”  _

_ “On your right!” Esmeray frantically nocked an arrow and shot one of the soldiers point blank through their eye. Io whirled his spear and parried a soldier who attempted to strike Esmeray’s exposed back. Esmeray moved to shoot Io a grin of thanks, but his eyes widened in horror when his sight caught on the scene behind him. _

_ “Alden!” Esmeray shouted. Alden was fending off three soldiers, a deep wound in his left shoulder, which hung limp at his side. His other arm moved frantically, swinging his sword as he was forced against the cliffside, near the river of lava. Zira was fighting only a few yards away from him, locked in combat with two human soldiers as she and one of the Sunfire elf warriors struggled to land a hit. Her eyes momentarily locked onto Esmeray’s, desperation in her gaze. _

_ “ _ Help him _!” _

_ Esmeray dug through his quiver before pulling out one of his special arrows. The sky rune engraved on the shaft glowed as he nocked it and pulled back. _

_ “ _ Figit Sagitta Nubibus _!” He screamed the incantation. The arrow pulsed with magic as he loosed it. Whistling through the air, the arrow zipped unnaturally sideways, shooting clean through all three of the soldier’s heads. The soldiers crumbled to the ground as the arrow embedded itself in the lava, hissing as it sunk below the boiling waves. _

_ “I’m not getting  _ that _ back, that’s for sure.” Esmeray mused to himself as he and Io continued to fight off the human soldiers, gradually pushing them backwards to the lava river. Zira had finally managed to throw off the two soldiers she had been fighting with, and she rushed to Alden’s side. Dropping her swords, she tore off a length of cloth from her tunic and wrapped it around her husband’s shoulder, stemming the blood flow. She and Alden exchanged frantic words as the fighting continued. Io had run to aid a Skywing elf whose wing had been broken. As Esmeray looked around, his confidence lifted as he realized only a few humans remained standing. The battle was nearly over. _

_ “ _ Sretnuh ykoms niaga esir, nellaf fo hsa _.” The words sent a shiver down Esmeray’s spine. He whipped toward the husken voice, only to be knocked to the ground by a creature he didn’t recognize. He sucked in a breath as he struggled to hold back the animal’s snout, its smoking teeth trying to shred his face. _

_ “Incoming!” He heard Aelia yell. More of the shadow creatures bounded towards the elves, teeth bared and roaring. The sounds of screaming and fighting faded from his ears as Esmeray struggled to hold the creature. Its smoking body somehow pinned him to the ground, yet was completely gaseous when he tried to hit it. The only part he could hold was its gnashing mouth.  _

_ Esmeray’s heart stopped when the creature tried to gouge his throat with its claws. Its large paw caught onto the necklace where he wore his moon opal ring. “ _ Oh no, you don’t _!” Pushing his forearm up against the creature’s throat, he used all of his strength to heave it off, scrambling on the ground to his feet. The smoke creature growled, stalking towards him as he held out his dagger. _

_ “Zira!” He spared a glance to the voice. Esmeray watched as Alden fell onto his back, another one of the smoke creatures sinking its teeth into his wounded shoulder. Alden grit his teeth against the pain, using his free hand to try to peel its teeth off his body. Zira dashed to Alden’s side, crying out his name helplessly… _

_ Just as a tendril of shadow shot through their hearts. _

_ “ZIRA! ALDEN!” Esmeray cried out. The two crumbled to the ground, lifeless. Instantly, the shadow creature dissolved into smoke. A scream grabbed Esmeray’s attention. It was Io, who was still fighting with his own smoke creature. Another tendril of darkness shot out and stabbed Io through his head. Io seized up, his eyes widening, before he too collapsed. _

_ Esmeray’s heart felt like it was being crushed by an avalanche. Shaking his head in disbelief, he turned back to the smoke creature, whose growling only grew louder as it got closer to him. Its hollow, lifeless eyes stared back. The creature’s hind legs tensed up, and it leaped. _

_ “ _ Sagitta Ignis _!” Esmeray ducked as an arrow of fire ripped through the smoke creature in midair. Screaming, the creature hit the ground and vanished in a puff of smoke. Esmeray gasped as Aelia, headdress gone, both horns broken, rushed to his side. Panting and bleeding from a thousand cuts, she met Esmeray’s eyes. _

_ “How many-?” _

_ “Just me.” It pained Esmeray to say it. “I’m the only one still alive.” _

_ Aelia’s lips pressed into a thin line. “As am I.” Though her voice was hard, he could tell she was holding back tears. “Do not give up, Esmeray. We must endure.” _

_ A sinister laugh suddenly filled the air. Both elves whipped around, holding their weapons out. After a heartbeat as the laughter ceased, a cloaked figure emerged from behind the cliffs into the open.  _

_ Esmeray gripped his dagger as he beheld what he assumed was the dark mage. He was dressed in all dark clothing, and he held a long, silver staff in one hand, and to both the elves’ shock, a primal stone in the other. _

_ “I’m afraid you will not win this battle today,” the cold voice told them. “All of your warriors are dead. You cannot hope to best me.” _

_ Gritting her teeth, Aelia held her sunforge blade and charged at him, all the raw fury of her loss in her scream. The dark mage only stood still as he waited for her to come. For a moment, Esmeray dared to hope. _

_ Then, the dark mage side-stepped her. Aelia, her eyes widening as she realized her mistake, tried to turn around to face the mage. Quick as a snake, the dark mage drew a rune in the air, summoning lightning from the primal stone. “ _ FULMINUS _!” Thrusting out his arm he cast lightning straight into Aeilia’s chest. _

_ Esmeray’s heart stopped. “NO!”  _

_ Aelia shrieked in agony as she went flying across the ground, her armor smoking and her tunic burning. So great was the force of the dark mage’s lightning, she slid all the way across the jagged cliff face…  _

_ Straight over the edge, where her screams were replaced by the loud hissing of lava as it engulfed her body. _

_ “YOU SICK MONSTER!” Esmeray’s voice was raw. Tears stinging the corners of his eyes, he clenched the hilt of his dagger, readying to rush the dark mage and shove him over the edge, where he could meet the same fate as his fallen friend. _

_ Before he was able to move even one step, the dark mage brandished his primal stone. Faster than he had ever seen, he drew another rune in the air. Esmeray could feel the air grow cold as he spoke the incantation. _

_ “ _ Aspiro Frigis _!” _

_ Instantly, Esmeray’s entire lower body was encased in giant spikes of ice. Esmeray gasped sharply as the frigid temperature of the ice shot through his thin clothing. He writhed within the ice, trying to work his arms free, but to no avail. Panting, he faced the dark mage, a neutral defiance covering over his face. _

_ “Now…” The dark mage spoke. He dusted off his robes and pulled on the cuffs of his sleeves. Putting the primal stone within the folds of his cloak, he stalked towards Esmeray. “It’s just me… and you.” _

_ Esmeray glared as the mage looked him up and down. Putting an arm behind his back, the dark mage continued to speak to him in his grotesquely businesslike tone. _

_ “You are a Moonshadow elf, are you not?” _

_ “Tidebound, actually,” Esmeray shook his braids away from his face. “I just don’t have my fins with me at the moment.” _

_ The dark mage narrowed his unseen eyes. “I suggest you stop talking, elf.” _

_ Esmeray smirked savagely. The dark mage circled around him slowly, like a shark around a wounded fish. “You are the only one of the elves still alive.” He continued, “If you cooperate… perhaps it will stay that way.” _

_ Esmeray barked a laugh. “Cooperate? As if we are business partners?! In what world do you live in, human?!” _

_ The dark mage’s lip curled. “I don’t suggest being so bold in your position.” The dark mage lowered his head to Esmeray’s face. “It won’t end well for you.” _

_ Esmeray lifted his chin in defiance. “ _ Come closer, I dare you _.” He thought venomously.  _

_ “I am looking for the location of an ancient site of magic that has been abandoned in the western continent.” The dark mage told him. “It once held and may still hold powerful magic that would be of great use to the humans, so tell me, elf: where is the moon nexus.” _

_ So  _ that _ was what he was after. Esmeray’s eyes narrowed. Though he had almost no idea of the exact location of the moon nexus, the most powerful source of moon magic, he knew that it was within the human kingdom of Katolis, on the peak of a mountain. And Esmeray knew, that even with that one shred of knowledge, the human mage would most certainly find it. _

_ “Even if I knew,” Esmeray spoke lowly, “what makes you think I would tell you?” _

_ “You  _ do _ know,” the dark mage growled. “I know you know. Even if it does not reside in Xadia, you elves would still know the location of a site of magic as precious as the moon nexus. So tell me,” the dark mage slammed his staff on the ground, “where is it?!” _

_ “I will never help you.” Esmeray snarled. _

_ “If you do not give me the location of the nexus, I will dispose of you.” _

_ Esmeray laughed, causing the mage to blink in surprise. “Fool. I am already dead.” _

_ The dark mage’s unseen eyes searched the elf’s face, staring at his intricate tattoos and icy white eyes. He watched the emotion in Esmeray’s eyes, until his gaze caught on something that hung around his neck. _

_ “Oh? What’s this?” The mage grabbed Esmeray’s necklace. With one sharp yank, he broke the chain off of Esmeray’s neck and held it in his fingers. _

_ “HOW DARE YOU?!” Esmeray snarled. He writhed in his prison of ice, wishing he could get just one arm free to take back his ring,  _ his ring _. “Vile human!” _

_ “You can bark and struggle all you want, elf. You’ll never escape.” The dark mage sighed. He turned the ring over in his hands. “Moon opal. Good for spells. Quite a rare find.” He pocketed Esmeray’s ring. Esmeray wished that the burning fire of rage inside of him could melt the ice encasing him. _

_ “Typical of you filthy humans,” He spat. He glared daggers at the mage. “Always stealing what isn’t yours. You take and take and take, your hunger for more never satisfied.” _

_ The mage looked at him. Through his cloak, Esmeray caught a glimpse of his eyes. They were gray, like Deimos’, but a much duller, grimey shade. The thought of Deimos made Esmeray’s spirit strengthen. He turned and turned his arms in the ice, trying to slowly work his limbs free. _

_ “Well, wouldn’t you know about that, elf?” He dusted off the purple gem of his strange silver staff. “You elves have everything. Magic, prosperity, everything you could ever ask for, all at your fingertips. You have everything, and you guard it jealously, never willing to help those in need.” _

_ “You think we always did?!” Esmeray growled. “We used to live in peace! Though it was against the better judgement of the elves, you humans were gifted the knowledge of magic by the unicorns thousands of years ago! But you were not content, and you began to kill the very creatures who gave you magic! You wiped them out with no regard for the consequences! The justice you received was well deserved!” _

_ “Enough!” The mage slammed his staff onto the ground. “I have no more time to waste here. The Dragon King will be arriving soon, so tell me: where is the moon nexus?!” _

_ Esmeray only glared at him. It gave him a grim satisfaction when he sensed the mage grow more and more angry. _

_ “WHERE IS IT?!” He demanded. “TELL ME, OR I’LL KILL YOU!” _

_ Esmeray laughed. The mage clenched his teeth when Esmeray met his eyes. “I told you, I am already dead. Your threats mean nothing to me.” _

_ The mage made a sound of frustration. He reached within his robes, pulling out a small object. His eyes flashed from under his hood when he saw shock flicker across the elf’s face as he recognized the object. _

_ “If you will not give me the information I need,” the mage held out the bandage-wrapped gray paw, “you have no use to me.” _

_ “ _ Htaerb eht laets _.” _

_ A glowing white hand rose from the paw. It instantly flew to Esmeray, plunging down his throat. His eyes widened when it pulled out a glowing pale sphere, returning to the mage’s hand. Esmeray’s breath quickened, and his eyes widened even further when he realized that no matter how hard he breathed, he couldn’t get air into his lungs. _

_ He gasped like a fish out of water, stopping his struggling to focus in vain on trying to breathe. The mage watched on silently as Esmeray struggled to breathe, his hand clenched around the weasel paw that held the elf’s breath. _

_ “I will return it to you,” the mage said casually. Esmeray glared at him, his teeth bared as he forced empty air into his lungs. “If you tell me where the nexus is, I will let you live. You tell me, I leave you here, and we can both return to our homes.” _

_ Dark circles swam in Esmeray’s vision. He slumped against the ice, his gasps growing weaker and weaker. The survival instinct in his mind was screaming at him to agree. To tell the mage what he wanted to know, so he could live. So he could go home, where Deimos was waiting. _

_ Deimos… _

_ Esmeray looked up weakly to the mage. The mage raised an unseen eyebrow as Esmeray’s mouth moved, trying to form words.  _

_ “Hm?” The mage stepped closer. “Are you going to tell me?” _

_ Esmeray panted. Gathering up the last of his fading strength, he stared coldly at the dark mage. _

_ “If… you think… I would… tell you… and go home… to face… my beloved… after… endangering… our entire… home…” Esmeray paused, trying one last time to raise his head to meet the rage-filled eyes of the mage, “you… are… sorely… mistaken.” _

_ The mage’s lip curled. His gray eyes narrowed cruelly. “Then you are of no use to me.” The mage crushed the weasel paw in his hands, Esmeray’s breath vanishing. Esmeray slumped against the ice, his vision turning glassy and blurry. With a wave of his hand, the mage shattered the ice. Esmeray fell to the ground, unmoving as he stared up one last time at the dark mage. _

_ “You obstinate creature,” the mage lowered his unseen face to Esmeray. “What will your beloved think of you when they hear you could have chosen to live?”  _

_ Esmeray managed an airy chuckle. “ _ He’d be proud of me _ ,” He thought as his world went dark. “ _ Proud that I never gave in to you. _"_

“Deimos… I’m sorry it had to end this way. I hope you will live on without me. I love you _.” _

_ Esmeray breathed one last time, and was still. _

* * *

Deimos was quiet as the living history spell vanished into the air. He clenched his hand, which held his broken opal ring. He stared down where Esmeray’s body lay. Wrapped softly in silken fabric, lain on a cushion, he looked as if he was simply asleep. His mouth was still slightly parted, as he always slept.

A deep, rumbling voice heaved a great sigh. “A true warrior.” Avizandum lowered his great head, looking sadly at the bodies of the elves who had died fighting to protect The Border. “As all of these elves were.”

Deimos was the first to arrive to retrieve Esmeray’s body. In his grief, he had wondered how someone like his Esmeray would perish in a battle like this. Taking his ring, he crushed it in his hands and performed a living history spell. Now…

He felt numb.

Avizandum shook his head at the death before him. “These elves could have been saved. I was not vigilant. I allowed the humans to come here and to steal their lives away.” He breathed a cloud of electricity. “Never again. Never again.”

Deimos broke out of his trance. He looked up to Avizandum. “Never…?”

“Never again will there be a Borderguard.” Avizandum growled. “From now on, I alone will patrol The Border. Never again will I endanger the lives of the people of Xadia.”

“But… this mage killed them with dark magic…” Deimos swallowed thickly. “What if he returns…?” 

Avizandum lowered his head to Deimos, blinking a great yellow eye at him. “Then I will obliterate his soul from existence. And I will do it a hundred thousand times again.”

Deimos was silent. He stared at the body of his Esmeray. Lying not far from him were Alden and Zira, a deep blue blanket thrown over their chests to hide their bloodstained tunics. Io’s body was completely covered. His body was badly mutilated, and it was unfit for the eyes of the living. Aelia, the Sunfire elf, leader of the Borderguard, had no body to retrieve. The others…

Deimos closed his eyes. Avizandum sighed again. He lowered his snout to Deimos, ever so gently nudging his shoulder. 

“I will leave you to mourn.” He told him. He turned around, careful to step lightly. He lifted his wings, the air whooshing as he prepared to fly. Deimos said nothing as Avizandum took off, making his undone hair swirl around his head as Avizandum flew south.

There, he stood. Staring at the body of Esmeray. His hands trembled at his sides as he knelt down next to the body. 

“ _ He looks… so peaceful _ .” Deimos thought numbly. “ _ As if he could just wake up… and look up at me… and smile… _ ” Reaching out, Deimos lay a hand on Esmeray’s palm. His heart shattered when he felt no warmth. 

Even when they were surrounded by the boiling river of lava… his lifeless body was so, so cold.

“ _ You were so brave… _ ” Deimos thought. His lower lip trembled as he grasped Esmeray’s cold hand. “ _ Even in the face of death… you laughed. You were unyielding. You took up your duty to Xadia… and you fulfilled it to the end… _ ”

Folding his arms over his head, Deimos rested his head on Esmeray’s chest, tears burning hot trails down his cheeks. “ _ Why why why why why why why did it have to be like this? Why did you have to be taken from me? Why was this the way you had to fulfill your duty? Why _ ?”

He didn’t know. His breath hitched painfully, his thoughts becoming nothing more than flashes of sorrow. Deimos sobbed against his beloved’s chest. The broken shards of the moon opal ring slipped from his fingers and fell to the ground. Curling into a tight ball, Deimos quietly cried as his heart finally gave out.

Esmeray, the love of his life, was gone.

“ _ Never again _ ,” Deimos’ heart was stone. “ _ I will never again love. Never again, will I allow my emotions to destroy me. Never again _ .”

Deimos clenched his teeth. He slumped against the ground, his head against Esmeray’s chest, no longer hearing the beat of his heart.

“ _ Never again _ .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one ever knew about them. No one ever knew how much Esmeray meant to him. He buried any love he had with him. Ethari thought Deimos was cold because of Zira's death... but in truth, he was cold because he destroyed himself after Esmeray's death.
> 
> Not every story has a happy ending.
> 
> Next week, we return to our regularly scheduled Ruthari, and I will reward y'all with some nice, fluffy chapters , m'kay? Give y'all a break from all this angst? That sound good? Alright, see y'all next week!

**Author's Note:**

> Reminding y'all that updates are on Saturdays. Have a nice day!


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